Return To Go
by Haley56
Summary: Reboot from S5. An oracle sends Dean back in time but knowing the future guarantees nothing especially when cursed by Lucifer.  Some changes go right, some wrong and after meeting an ancient society of hunters some changes are frightening. slash warning.
1. Chapter 1 The End

**I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. I simply play with them. **

***I was advised to proof read and make any corrections and changes to the text that may improve the story. I have improved my method of proofing by reading aloud to my daughter several times. I still do not have a bata reader so I make no promises. I hope that many of the spelling errors will be fixed and I intend a few changes to improve the story. Not overly large changes, but improvements I assure you. **

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**CHAPTER 1**

**THE END**

During the drive back to Bobby's Dean couldn't stop wondering what was happening to Sam. His mind wandered over every possibility, each one more horrible than the last. He had promised Sam he wouldn't try to open the door to save him and knew that under no circumstances could he break that promise and risk Lucifer rising in his perfect meat suit. Or would he? Was Sam alive? Was his soul even down there? Did Sam die when he fell into the pit and if so did his soul stay there or did it rise to heaven. That was the one possibility that wasn't horrible. Dean needed to know and asked Bobby if he knew any way of finding out.

"An oracle might be able to tell you." Bobby surprised him, "But it may not be a good idea to find out."

Bobby like most hunters believed oracles, were dangerous. Perhaps it was being a hunter that made knowing the future a bad deal. It was one thing to believe you were going to end young and bloody. It was another to know the time, date and details. But where is my dead brother should be a safe question, unless it was the wrong location. That could send Dean right over the edge. Suddenly Bobby wished he kept his mouth shut. But then again a spark of life came to Dean's blank eyes.

"Where is this oracle Bobby?" Dean asked ending Bobby's internal argument.

"Andover, Massachusetts." Bobby answered taking a seat beside Dean, "It's about a mile south of the town. Story has it that a small coven, in the early 1690's, built the temple in a cave then summoned the oracle. She didn't appreciate being disturbed, so the witch hunts reached Andover and every one of the coven was convicted and executed. When you consider of the hundred and fifty people charged with witchcraft only nineteen of the witches convicted in Salem town were ever executed. That every one of this coven were strung up is saying something. Anyway that's the legend. I have heard a couple of stories since, but the one you should remember Dean, is that after a hunter went to the cave he tried to seal it with dynamite. Failed of course, but I heard that from the guy who tried it. He wouldn't tell me why he did it but did say don't ask the question unless you know you can live with the answer. I know I'm the one that suggested it but think about it Dean. If the answer is bad can you live with that."

After only a few moment's thought Dean answered, "I don't have a choice Bobby. What ever it is I'll have to live with it. I promised Sam."

From Sioux Falls South Dakota to Andover Massachusetts was a thirty hour drive. Much to long with too much time to think but Lead Zeppelin blaring on the old sound system kept him going by day and a bottle of Jack Daniels brought him a few hours sleep at night. Dean had no expectations regarding the success of the trip. Only a mild hope that the answer he would receive might make it a little easier to live day to day. A very mild hope.

The entrance of the cave wasn't easy to find at night. It was well hidden by brush and the hill it was in wasn't much of a hill. It was almost dawn when he, grubby, scuffed and cursing, finely found it. He stood at the entrance a moment to consider if he wanted to risk loosing that tiny glimmer of hope but he knew the uncertainty would torment him now that he knew an answer was attainable. He ducked his head and took that first step. It wasn't far down and the passage was narrow. The evidence of pick and shove enlarging the space was unmistakeable. An axe or pick had been used to make the ceiling of the passage six feet high and the scoring in the walls indicated that it was not always two feet wide. He came to a small cave no more than ten feet underground. It's ceiling was all of eight feet high and a small hole let in what little light was cast by the moon.

Dean flashed the beam of his flashlight around finding a strange alter at the center of the cave and there were torches in the walls every few feet. Nothing else occupied the space. This alter had none of the usual signs of witchcraft. It looked more like something he or Sam might set up. He took a can of lighter fluid from his pocketed store of supernatural defensive weapons, doused a torch and lit it. Every torch in the room burst into flames. Dean dropped the flashlight and pulled out his automatic. After looking in every nook and cranny Dean satisfied himself that he was alone and put the pistol away. He did a close examination of the items on the strange alter and found what surprised him the most. Silver. Silver, candlesticks, patina, two incense burners and an ornate silver knife lay in careful arrangement on the little stone alter. The lack of familiarity was, in a fashion, comforting. There was no hint of the satanic which was something he did not want to deal with at this time. Dean lit the candles then poured incense in the burners and lit them. Next he emptied his canteen of wine into the patina, an ornate, shallow bowl set on foot high legs. He recited the summoning incantation he had written on parchment then burned it in a small silver tray beside the patina.

"You are a brave hunter to summon me." a strong feminine voice came for a shadowed corner.

Dean turned to find a young attractive girl in a simple floor length dress that simmered as she moved. Her pale skin had a sheen to it, her eyes were as penetrating as Castiel's and were a peculiar colour, of reddish brown like those of a dove. Though she had an Angelic air about here Dean would not make the mistake of thinking her harmless, after all, Angels were anything but harmless.

"Who are you?" Dean asked trying to sound casual.

"I am she whom you summoned," She replied with a grin.

"You're the oracle?" Dean returned.

She nodded by way of an answer and still smiling walked all around Dean looking him up and down in an analytical way that he was familiar with though, woman checking him out were never so blatant. It made him a little uncomfortable, after all, this lady wasn't looking for a good time. Maybe she was sizing him up for lunch.

"You are quite beautiful but that is to be expected considering your lineage." she said thoughtfully, "One of light, one of darkness. You think your soul is stained but why?" She paused and smiled with a slight head tilt that reminded Dean of Castiel, "It is still very pure, dear boy."

Dean didn't want to play this game but he was on her turf and he wanted something from her, so felt he had no choice and risked an honest answer, "In Hell I tortured people to save my own ass. I broke under torture and that started the beginning of the end. Lucifer's rise."

"What you do not understand is your spirit did not truly break. You retreated inside your mind. The hand that took the knife from Alastair belonged to a senseless drone who had no concept of right or wrong." She said with a sad smile.

"What?" Dean asked startled, "Do you mean I was crazy?"

"All that you are, the spirit, the soul that is Dean Winchester retreated into a hidden corner of your mind to escape Alastair leaving only a shell to carry on."

"How can I not remember something like that?" Dean stammered, "No, I do remember everything I did."

"Zachariah deduced that if you believed you were capable of such horrors while still rational you would be irreparably traumatized. That your spirit would be so completely crushed, you would say yes to Michael with little or no opposition. He removed any memory of your retreat from reality, of which there was little, while leaving the memories of what you did. You assumed you were fully cognoscente of what you were doing and that you took pleasure in it."

Dean desperately wanted to snatch up this offered absolution, to surrender any responsibility for his actions. To be free of the guilt and shame. To torture anyone for any reason had been disgusting to Dean before he went to hell and was no less so now. How sweet, to lift such a weight from his shoulders, but guilt was a habit he had learned early in life and didn't know how to break.

"But that was still me whether I remembered who I was nor not." Dean struggled for comprehension, "I was alright with the torture, I even enjoyed it." He whispered.

"No part of you remained within your conscious mind, dear boy. You were beyond all rational thought." She answered with quiet insistence, "What you remember as taking pleasure in giving pain was something far more convoluted."

"Can you give me back those memories?" Dean asked hoping to understand and believe.

"To understand what drove you to such measures you would have to remember the true horror of what you experienced? It was a form of madness, your mind was shattered." She warned and asked, "Do you truly wish to remember what made this so? Have you not suffered enough?"

Dean turned and walked away for fear the terror that now surged through him might show in his eyes. He longed to say he was sufficiently chastised for his crimes and leave it at that but he needed to know, to believe deep in his heart and soul that he wasn't responsible. Only then could he find any measure of peace.

Dean turned a determined and confident face to the oracle and answered, "I won't be able to answer that till I know what really happened."

She smiled and nodded as if she knew what his answer would be and touched his forehead.

Dean's mind was already so filled with his experience in hell, he was amazed by how much he had forgotten. In a nauseating rush the old memories became clearer, more detailed and new images flooded in. In his mind's eye Dean watched how over time he not only began to loose his ability to focus his mind and ride out the pain but the reason why he was enduring it became more and more abstract and difficult to hold on to. He began to anticipate each slice of Alistair's knife, the dread torturing him as much as the blade. He became angry with himself when he lost control over his body shivering and twitching and struggling to escape. Dean's torment escalated when Alastair began taking slices of his flesh and eating them before his eyes.

This was the beginning of his very clear decent into insanity. Hell and Alistair became his world, his reality. There was nothing beyond, never had been. Dean wished he could pull away and not look but there was no escaping now. He had told Sam he held out for thirty years but only now realized the enormity of that. Thirty years was longer than he'd been alive. The certain knowledge that he had broken had been hard to endure but seeing it, feeling it, knowing just how completely he had been destroyed, filled Dean with anguish and self loathing. As he began to truly comprehend what had happened to him he fell trembling to his knees with tears flowing unchecked from his tightly closed eyes.

At what point he succumbed to the torture was not defined but it was gradual like the slow sinking of a ship. He stopped fighting, stopped trying to resist the pain. He lay on the rack unable to distinguish his screams from others while tears slowly slipped from dazed eyes as Alastair carved and eat. The impulse to take Alistair's offer grew stronger as his hold on who he was and why he resisted began to fail until one day when he was offered the knife it didn't occur to him to say no. Everything he had been was gone and what remained decided that something in this nightmare world had to make sense and he would only find it by accepting what was. Once coming to this conclusion Alastair's offer became reasonable. Who was he to argue with the natural order of things? To deny himself the opportunity to evolve from meat to master would be absurd.

The oracle's worm gentle arms encircled him pulling him to her. Dean didn't have the strength to resist. As she rocked him, he cried as he had not since he was a small child in his mothers arms. Every painful sob was filled with the full measure of his grief. She offered no empty words of reassurance letting him feel his pain unencumbered. Dean didn't know how long he wept but by the time he fell silent he was too exhausted to do anything but lay in comfortable silence in the ladies rocking arms and marvel at how safe he felt there. He didn't want to give up this feeling quite yet but thoughts of how his failure lead to Sam's end forced their way to the surface.

"I gave up." Dean choked, "I betrayed everything I believe in, everything I am. I was becoming a demon. That's worse than worthless."

"You have powerful survival instincts Dean." she countered gently but firmly, "Rather than giving in to rage and hate and becoming a part of the evil that surrounded you, you hid all that you are deep inside yourself. If you had truly surrendered, your spirit would have been damaged, your soul stained and altering your memories would not have restored you. Believe me when I say no one could have endured."

"My father did." Dean couldn't stop himself from saying though he sounded like a grade schooler.

"No your father did not." She said with an extra squeeze, "Instead he contrived and deceived."

"Alastair said he held out for a hundred years." Dean stammered confused by her statement.

"You believed a demon who was trying to torment you? Truly Dean, you know better." she said giving him another squeeze, "If he never capitulated then how was it he was free of the rack and waiting at the gate when it opened? He was there unencumbered and able to help you. How is that possible?"

Dean managed to free himself enough to look up into the oracle's eyes and stammered, "Free, sane and …... but…. I don't get it."

"Your father did know your brother was intended to be a pawn of Hell." the oracle said after a brief pause, "The finer points he was unaware of including the part you were to play. He had no fear of shedding blood in hell but he was afraid of going mad and becoming a demon. One you could not defeat. My dear he knew that the strongest man will break under torture. Vietnam taught him this."

"My dad was tortured in Vietnam?" Dean asked stunned.

"He was not however, he did witness men he believed indestructible broken after only a few days. Your father was as arrogant a man as ever lived but he was not so foolish as to believe he could withstand an eternity of torture without succumbing. He endured until he felt his resolve beginning to slip, then decided to accept Alastair's offer rather than become a pawn of hell. Your father's portrayal of one turning evil was so convincing he gained enough freedom to make his way to the gate."

After a long stunned silence Dean found a flaw in her story.

"But didn't I break the seal?" He asked.

"Yes the seal had to be broken by a righteous man, which your father was not." she replied.

Pulling away from her, Dean demanded in an indignant temper, "My father sacrificed everything to fight evil and save people. How can he not be righteous? What do you call righteous?"

"He sacrificed everything, including his children, for vengeance sake. You were right when you told your brother the pursuit was completely selfish. Such self interest does not make a righteous man." The oracle countered.

"Sacrificed? He did his best to protect us. He taught us to fight and survive. He didn't want us to be weak and defenceless." Dean protested.

Dean knew there was some truth in what the oracle was saying about his father but he and Sam were the only ones allowed to say it. Well, maybe Bobby, but that was all.

"Dean your father wasn't there to protect you from the man who grabbed you in the park in Portland when you were ten." the oracle pointed out. "It was Wesley Allan Dodd. He had tortured, sexually abused and killed three boys and intended to make you his fourth. It was fortunate your gouging at his eyes caused such a commotion or he would have succeeded. Do you remember the van that followed you and Sam from school when you were thirteen. The men inside had plans to make you both pornographic movie actors. It was a distant siren that frightened them away not the pipe in your hand. And no one saved you from the teacher in junior high. Your father left you alone to be victimized by whatever evil happened upon you, human or supernatural. It is to your credit that you survived and kept your brother safe, not your father's."

Dean struggled for some response, a means to protect the one illusion he still held onto. That his father was a good man who did his best for them and did not fail. That he was worthy of the hero worship Dean had always so freely given. 'You don't understand' was the best he could come up with but let it go for it was obvious she knew him and his family frighteningly well. How did she know everything including what happened to his father in Hell?

Dean rose and began to gently pace about the cave in seemingly purposeful steps before turning to confront the still seated oracle, "How do you know? About me fine, all you have to do is read my mind. But my dad? How do you know about him?"

"When you enter my temple you bring with you all that is your live." she explained and rose to watch the interesting display of purposeful pacing, "You are a window into your entire world, all that has touched and may touch you. I may look at anything I wish. You are a fascination dear boy. I marvel that one so noble shares blood with two such vain, egocentric, men."

"You don't know them." Dean stopped his pacing and took several motivated steps toward her that would have intimidated anyone else. After a moments silence he said in a quiet determined voice, "You don't know them. You don't understand us."

"I do dear boy. I know their flaws and so do you." The oracle said with a smile and stood in front of him invading his personal space, "Yes they have their virtues, your brother in particular. If he were not so inclined to self pity he could be very noble."

"Okay, fine, my dad wasn't perfect and neither is Sam." Dean reluctantly admitted and stepped away to begin his pacing again, "So what, who is? Look at me, honestly, really look at me. Liar and thief extraordinaire. I'm a glutton, and womanizer. And angry? Sam talks about his anger, hell I'm rage on a stick. Whatever his faults were he doesn't deserve hell any more than I did. I can't think of too many people who do. I don't understand why any God who is supposed to be benevolent would create a place like that. Aside from Adolf Hitler and maybe a few serial murderer, rapist, types, no one deserves that. Tell me how could God create a place like that and how could Sam deserve it."

"Oh, Dean." the oracle smiled with charm, warmth and a tiny laugh, "Lying and thieving are tools of your trade. Without these skills and the willingness to use them many would die horribly. You are forgiven without a moments thought. As for your indulgences? You must understand in the final analysis the only question that matters is why. No one is condemned for trying to fill an empty cavern within themselves by indulging in food and carnal pleasures. Despite the elaborate tales you spin, you never promised any woman more than a night of passion and pleasure and that you gave in abundance. If you give what you promise and take only what you are due, no fault will be found." She raised her hand a moment her expression becoming thoughtful. "A small suggestion. The tales are quite unnecessary. Your looks and charm with a facsimile of what you truly do would fan the ladies interest quite well. And an expression of appreciation for a pleasant evening would elevate any hurt feeling over waking up alone." she offered a little counsel then became serious, "Dear boy, Hell was created as a place God was not. Nothing more. Like heaven and earth it is what it's residents have made of it. As for your brother, God did not condemn him. He sent himself there. Why do you think your brother more worthy to be saved than yourself?"

How did she know that, Dean wondered. How did she know everything. If one thing about her was curtain she wasn't human as most of the old Greek legends of oracles suggested but neither was she anything Dean could identify. Not a demon, that was curtain. She'd have given herself away by now and not an Angel because she was clearly an emotional creature with kindness and a sense of humour. So what was he dealing with? Till he could figure it out he would have to play her game.

"It's my job to save him. I failed." Dean forced himself to say, "I failed him, I failed my dad, I even failed Cas. I fail everybody so if someone is worth saving it isn't me."

"When you dragged your brother from the academy his one thought was to gratify his need for revenge. You knew this." the oracle said with a grin and a shake of her head bouncing, long, almost white locks. "You said it yourself that it was a selfish pursuit, one your father indulged in your entire life. Your father demanded you protect your brother at all costs convincing you his life was of greater value than yours. It instilled in you this lowly opinion of yourself but Dean you must take responsibility for yourself and toss aside the child of his cruel ways. Become the truly extraordinary being you are."

"I didn't come here to listen to you slam my family." Dean's temper flared and he stopped his pacing to lock eyes with her, "All I want to know is, is my brother suffering in hell. If you can tell me fine. If not I'll leave, no harm, no foul. Is that fair."

"Oh very fair, and to answer your question no you're brother is not in paradise." She answered without loosing the smile, "He is not on a rack as you were but he does suffer."

The news sent a jolt threw Dean like being hit by lightning. It had already been a week since Sam jumped into the pit. One week equaled approximately two and a half years in hell. What was going on? Was he at the mercy of the other demons or was he protected by being Lucifer's meat suit? Was one fate worse that the other? Maybe? Dean had little doubt that in time he would have become a demon and that was a fate he couldn't bare for Sam.

"Do you wish to save you're brother?"

"Can Sam be saved without freeing Lucifer?" Dean asked half-heartedly.

"You could step back in time to prevent Lucifer's rise."

"I tried going back in time." Dean sighed with regret, "It seems you can't change your destiny. I don't even believe in that destiny crap but I still couldn't change anything."

"Destiny does not exist." She stunned Dean, "The Angels believe in it because God knows all. From the day the world began he has known how it would end therefore they believe he has determined the path of all things. This is not so. God knows all because he can see every path into the future and knows which one you will choose." the oracle paused and smiled at the expression of amazement on Dean's face, "In your other journeys into the past you returned in you're present form. Under those circumstances you can not change the past but only be a part of it. I must release your soul and send it back to unite with your younger self. Then you will be able to alter your decisions and influence the choices of those around you. You may be able to save your brother and in doing so save the world much."

"How far back can you send me?" Dean asked intrigued.

"Seven years by it's most accurate measure."

"And what's in this for you." Dean knew it would not be free.

"When you are satisfied that I have given you a gift of great value, you must come back here and pay homage to me."

"Homage, what kind, what do you want?" Dean asked unsure of what he would be promising.

"That must be you're decision. If it is an obligation and not a gift it is worthless."

"This is to damned easy." Dean shook his head, "There has to be a catch. Everything has a price."

"Yes, you will have to make a sacrifice but not to me." The oracle warned.

"I don't get you and I have a sick feeling I don't want to, but explain anyway." Dean said with a growing sense of dread.

The oracle moved toward him in a slow gliding motion her satin like skin and shimmering dress catching the light, giving her an even more exotic appearance, like a Greek goddess. She stopped in front of him uncomfortably close but her smile was soft and pleasant.

"Understand Dean Winchester, you're pain can end soon. You can be in paradise free of all guilt and pain. You would be at peace."

"And Sam?" Dean asked though he doubted Heaven would give him peace, "Where would he be?"

"He would remain where he is till end of days returns." She answered with a sad smile, "That may not be for many millennia. His fate is clouded. Yours is much clearer. If you undertake this journey you will know many difficult years, will suffer in ways you did not before but you will have the opportunity to save your world and your brother and you will know a love pure and unconditional that will endure all trials. You will learn to love and trust as you never thought you could. This will be your reward for this choice."

Dean couldn't help but think he was missing something, something important, not that it mattered. There were two things he did see clearly. One was the opportunity to save Sam from the pit and the other was preventing the horror of the apocalypse. He had promised Sam he wouldn't try to save him and he wouldn't if there was any risk to the world. If he couldn't change anything else in the past there was one thing he wouldn't do. Make the deal. He would leave Sam dead and in Heaven if that was the best he could do. It would end any possibility of the apocalypse.

"Sure it sounds great but nothing is this easy. What am I not seeing?" Dean refused to rush in to this 'to good to be true' deal.

Her smile grew and was filled with warmth and delight as she stepped in closer. Her eyes were so intense and riveted on Dean he couldn't look away. Every word she spoke became fixed in his mind.

"Give yourself the credit you are due and you will find the source of your courage, your fortitude and your will." she pursued her train of thought not his, "With such virtues you would be amazed by what you can accomplish but you must demand the respect that is your due. Do this and be truthful with yourself, listen to yourself not your critics whoever they may be. The truth will be your most valuable weapon in your battle to save your family and the world. Believe you know it and use it fearlessly. In doing so you will find your salvation and spare the world much."

"Okay, that's great." Dean exclaimed with a gasping breath while ignoring the echoing in his head, "I can save Sam without damning the world but in all that where is the how?"

"I have told you." she smiled merrily but there was an unmistakable tease in her smile and in her eyes, "Appreciate your true worth and demand the respect of your brother."

"He does." Dean insisted, "He kept, trusting me, believing in me when I gave him every reason not to. So how can I save him with that."

"Go back and demand it of him years in the past." she answered, she took several steps away giving Dean time to process what she said, then turned to him again, "Your greatest weakness is your self loathing resulting from, harsh criticisms, a lack of praise and a burden of guilt that was not yours. It is damage you will find hard to undo but undo you must. Pursue your own healing. Your brother's anger and egocentricity is his failing. He must accept his poor beginnings and pardon if not forgive his father. The powerful lesson, "It could have been worse" must come sooner. Above all he must realize he is not your superior nor is he possessed of all the virtue he deems you lack. If he can accept this then the benefits of the other revelations will come sooner, and more will be realized before it is to late."

Dean stepped back and would have sat if a chair had been handy. There, all the problems of a life time for him and his brother solved and the world saved, just like that. Simple. SHE HAS GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!

"Let me get this straight. You think I should get over my daddy issues, go back in time to teach my brother to stop wallowing in self pity and get over himself and everything will be fine?" Dean demanded choking on the ludicrous suggestion, "You were never human were you? There is nothing simple about getting over any issues. It can take a life time of industrial strength therapy to do that. I can't solve my personal problems much less Sam's. Even if I could, do you really think it could change everything just like that."

"Your brother listening to you and believing in you would change a great deal especially if you believe in yourself." the oracle replied with great conviction, "No I have never been human. I was not born I was created eons ago. No I do not understand your issues. I only know that they are and what must be done to change the course of events."

In the short time Dean was in the temple he had learned so much he needed time to assimilate it all and put it in some kind of order. All the bits and pieces had to be identified, categorized as important or merely disturbing, and given it's do consideration before he could settle on any course of action. The dire consequences of not doing so was a hard lesson learned. One statement reverberated a little louder than the rest.

"Created eons ago?" he said hiding the touch of fear that gripped his heart, "You're an Angel."

"I am one of few left in the world as we once were. Damned to servitude on earth after our brethren were called back and their human forms taken from them." she replied with ease, "I was made oracle as punishment for my sins and yes dear boy they were great. However it was deemed that I could be saved. You will save me. He has seen it. Now you must choose, Dean Winchester."

The last time Sam's life hung in the balance Dean made a rash and impulsive decision that cost everyone much. Dean turned way from the mesmerizing influence of the oracle to collect his thoughts, to make a clear and considered choice. Was trusting an Angel any less dangerous than trusting a demon? Highly unlikely but there was one, no two that proved to be stand up. But where's the catch was the question that kept coming to him. There was always a catch and he finely asked what it was.

"I do not want you or your brothers soul." she made it clear, "Any homage you pay me is of your choosing and must be given in sincere gratitude."

"Did God tell you to do this?" Dean wasn't really clear on this point.

"He told me when omens of end of days abounded the lectus unus would come before me. If I had the wisdom to see it and the faith to act, my redemption would be at hand." she replied then said again. "You must choose."

"I'm going." Dean answered after a moments hesitation.

The oracle's smile became almost wicked as she said, "I knew you'd say that. Now prepare yourself. Faith will see you through this and the years to come."

"Faith in what?" Dean asked startled by the use of the word.

"Faith in he who cursed me to serve as oracle until I have seen the true worth and wonder that is mankind in one valiant and noble soul who shall through my intervention be God's chosen instrument. When the lectus unus has paid tribute to me I shall be free. I have waited for you a very long time Dean Winchester."

"Lectus unus, 'the chosen one'. You think that's me?" Dean was startled.

"End of days was at hand. Of all those who came only you posses the heart, the soul, and the body of a Quradu." she replied her eyes raised and her voice filled with joy, "The earth soaked in the blood of the innocent has cried out for the Jedi. I give it Dean Winchester."

She stepped up to the alter and took up the dagger than began to chant in a language Dean did not recognise in the least and he would recognize many even if he couldn't speak them. Then to his great disbelief she released the dagger and it flew into his chest. He looked at it then her in utter amazement before falling to his knees.

"Your spirit must be free." The oracle explained then threw her head back and laughed when Lucifer, wearing Sam, appeared in the temple, "There is nothing you can do here, brother. You are back in your cage till he comes." She addressed the apparition then returned to Dean. "Do not be afraid, he can only send his image to my temple, he can not lay hand upon you."

"Stop this." Lucifer commanded and pleaded at the same time, "He has the rings. Use them to free me and I will free you."

"I want nothing of the world you would create. He is our father's chosen instrument and there is nothing you can do to thwart him." She sneered at Lucifer then turned a wicked grin to Dean, "Visit me Dean Winchester. We will share a cup of wine and enjoy laughter at his expense."

Weak from blood loss Dean slid to the floor. Pain radiated through his chest with every movement, with every breath. For a moment he could see through the hole in the cave. The sun was rising painting a colourful mural across the sky. If it was the last thing he ever saw it wouldn't be so bad. Then again? Dean strained to look at the beautiful oracle instead. It was a scowling Lucifer that came into view, staring at him with a hate deeper and more malevolent than anything Dean had ever seen. Dean wondered how he could be on his way. As far as he could tell he was dieing but Lucifer was upset so maybe something was going right. What ever the case may be one fact was undeniable. Lucifer did not destroy the world.

Dean forced a smile on his face and said, "I win, so, I win."

"This is no triumph. You will regret this day, for the rest of your pathetic life. I curse you Dean Winchester." Lucifer said a smug grin on his face.

_**"**_**_All aberrations and defects, all impurities and corruption of your body and spirit shall arise and awaken the beast that is your true nature. In this befouled state you will be trapped in a war you can never win till I walk this earth again." _**

The last thing Dean saw, was Lucifer's satisfied grin, the last thing he heard was the curse. As Lucifer's face began to fade Dean could feel his life slipping away and all he could think of was 'I'm so sorry, I screwed up again.'

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**I hope you found this revised and corrected version of "Return To Go Chapter I The End" a more enjoyable read than the first. If you are a first time reader I thank you for your interest and ask you to leave a little note telling me what you thought of it. All comments and constructive criticism is welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2 Deja Vu

**I don't own Sam and Dean their on loan.**

**Revised chapter 2 Deja Vu**

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**CHAPTER 2**

**DÉJÀ VU**

The darkness that enveloped Dean vanished quickly and he found himself sitting on the hood of the Impala staring at the stares. Now this was a nice dream, him and his little brother, marveling at the vast grandeur that was the universe in comfortable silence. Dean turned his head to take a peak at Sam's contented face to find someone else in his place.

"Cass? Am I dead? Is this my heaven?" Dean asked trying to hide his disappointment.

"I don't know." The Angel answered while looking thoughtfully up to the stares, "I have a message for you."

"From?" Dean asked.

"God." Castiel answered them paused to take a long drink of the beer Sam would have had.

"After all this time does he have something to say besides back off or just back off again?" Dean groaned.

Castiel took a deep breath before forging ahead. With Dean's attitude toward God, this wasn't going to be easy and he didn't have a lot of time.

"God knew you would make this journey." Castiel hit him with what he hoped would be an attention getter, "Lucifer wasn't his problem because he knew how it would end."

"How exactly has it ended?" Dean demanded his ire rising, "They went into the hole. Sam with Lucifer inside, Michael wearing Adam. Is that supposed to be a good ending for this nightmare we've been living for the past five years. The oracle said he knew she would send me back but will I stop the Apocalypse? Did he say that specifically?" Dean dared to hope.

"He was not specific, however we are on the right path." The Angel replied with a little of the old faith and love evident in his voice.

"And what path is that? Where am I?" Dean asked after a short but considered pause.

"As you calculate time it is January 17th, 2004. Is there some significance to this date?"

"I got nothing." Dean answered with a shake of his head.

Dean needed another beer and time to digest what he had heard. He hopped off the impala to grab another beer out to the cooler that was always there and filled on nights like these. He chose another for Cass, make that two, and took his time settling down beside the Angel again. Seven years was a lot of opportunity to make a difference but could he and if so how should he?

"Now what? Is Zachariah going to try and stop me from changing the future?" He asked as he hopped back up beside Castiel.

"I do not think he is aware anything out of the ordinary has occurred." Castiel gave Dean a better answer than he'd hoped for, "You must be very careful in whom you confide. Knowledge of the future can be a dangerous thing in any hands but if possessed by demon's it could be disastrous."

"No shit." Dean returned, "The only change I want to make is to prevent the apocalypse and save my family. I don't call that dangerous, do you."

"No Dean, I support what you wish to do. I .. I may have a few things that can help you." Castiel said hesitantly.

Castiel stammer, unheard of. Castiel faced raging murderous Archangels, powerful demon's and even Lucifer himself without batting an eye. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what could frighten this Angel. He had enough on his plate just trying to figure out what he was doing. Then again, better to know what horror lies ahead.

"Cass you must be treading in deep water for you to be this nervous." Dean stated the obvious, "Should we be going here?"

"Probably not." Castiel answered with his disarming honesty, "But when you're new life begins I will no longer exist so it won't matter to me."

"What do you mean? You existed before the planet did. Why would that change?" Dean demanded angered over the thought of loosing his friend yet again.

"I come from a future that has not and may not occur. I have not met you in 2004." Castiel answered, "The battles we have fought together have not yet come and if you succeed in changing the future they will not. We may never meet."

"That totally sucks." Dean groaned but saw an advantage for his friend. "But won't you be happier having unquestioning faith and being back in heaven?"

"I don't consider ignorance a virtue." Castiel snapped then lower his voice, leaned forward and staring into Dean's eyes his spoke softly, "Dean please, tell me about us."

"Hell yah, I just hope I can convince you I'm telling the truth."

"I will know." Castiel assured him, "I will search your mind and know the truth." he paused and a look of alarm came over his face.

Was that fear in the Angel's face. This had to be bad.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Forgive me, I have been so preoccupied with my own concerns I have not given you God's message." Castiel confessed.

"Oh, is that all." Dean sighed with relief.

"God's words are not to be taken lightly." Castiel admonished his friend, "He speaks directly with few angels and fewer human beings. That he would take such pains for you speaks of your importance."

"Fine, I'm listening." Dean begrudgingly conceded the point, "So what does God have to say besides 'I knew it all along'?"

Castiel paused becoming very contemplative then began reciting as if reading from a text.

"_Consider what it means to be the product of a breading program that spans millennia. You have abilities of mind and body you have not realized but can with faith. Believe in yourself as I do and you will be victorious. Do not fear who you are or what you will become for there is nothing in you to be ashamed of. You are Jedi, a title you richly deserve."_

Dean felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him without the blow to the chest or slam to the floor. It didn't seem possible that the God who had been absent all his life and through out the apocalypse was suddenly in his corner and singing his praises. After spending all his life trying to live up to the expectations of a father who was impossible to please Dean found it hard to trust in the praise and acceptance of another absentee dad. Yet, why did he go to the trouble of contacting Castiel if it didn't matter? Could it be that Dean who was born for no other purpose than to throw the first rock, then be a meat suit to stop the avalanche, was important to God? It boggled the mind.

"I don't get it. If destiny doesn't exist then how does he know I'll be victorious or is he trying to tell me how to win. " Dean said displaying his confusion in his face and eyes.

"It may be that God has not written the course of your life but he knows it's path." Castiel tried to explain to his usually perceptive friend.

"If he's so all knowing and all powerful why does he let all this horror go on. Why isn't he saving people?" Dean snapped, expecting no answer.

Castiel answered, "You can be free or you can obey God's will. You can not have both."

"Well that sucks." Dean griped.

"I found it terrifying the first time I disobeyed." Castiel confided to Dean, "To choose a course of action is a natural thing for human's. It is considered a right from birth and you will fight, kill and die to keep it. Would you give it up and live like us, as an extension of God's will to end all suffering."

"I'm no man's bitch and that includes God's." Dean sighed. "You're willing to give it up now and I don't understand that. I guess you're as much a mystery to us as we are to you."

"I have always been his Angel. I gained the strength to believe I knew God's will better than my superiors through my faith in you." Castiel admitted rather sheepishly. "It was my choice. I should not have blamed you for all I lost. I ask your forgiveness for attacking you."

"Cass, it's okay. Like you said, you took the chance because of me."

"Regardless of my motives it was still my choice." Castiel would not be let off the hook, "You and Sam have taught me that we must all be responsible for our actions. Is that not your way?"

"Well yah." Dean admitted, "But you have to …."

"Would you excuse yourself for making a decision that you later regretted and blame someone else for it?" Castiel cut him off.

Dean seeing it was pointless admitted, "Okay, I wouldn't but I'm bad for that sort of thing. You got to show yourself some mercy dude, at least as much as you show others."

"Do you?" Castiel asked.

After a long difficult silence Dean answered, "I'm not the best human to model yourself after Cass. In fact I'm pretty low on the scale."

"But God has named you Jedi." Castiel returned.

"Yah what the hell is that. I'm Luke Skywalker? Han Solo maybe but Luke?" Dean laughed.

"Jedi is Hebrew. A derivative of Jedidiah. It means 'beloved by God'. It is what the people and the established church of the time called hunters like yourselves millennia ago. They were much loved and respected where ever they went."

"Dude I got to hear about this." Dean cheered smiling, "People used to love hunters?"

"I'm sorry we do not have the time. Or I don't. Dean please summon me." Castiel implored placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"What? What do you mean?"

"When you awaken and time begins again I may never know you and Sam unless you summon me and tell me about our friendship and the battle we waged." Castiel began to plead, "I have developed friendships and emotions and I'm making decisions on my own. As frightening as it is I don't want to loose it. Will you help me?"

"Of course." Dean replied emphatically, "How do you summon an Angel?"

"You will find the ritual in the Book of Angels and Demons."

"And where will I find that?" Dean asked.

"There are a number of books you will find useful." Castiel answered and tapped him on the forehead.

* * *

Before the musty smells of the dingy room, or the dull light filtering through the faded curtains could penetrate his thoughts Dean's mind registered only pain. It surged through his entire body and vibrated in his mind. He lay still, focusing on the pain then pushed it aside and searched for it's origins. Cracked ribs protested with every little move he made while stitches in his leg and a bandaged ankle added to his discomfort. It was time to open his eyes.

Yep, just as expected, a low rent motel but where. Dean pulled himself out of the bed and forced himself to walk over to the window. A parking lot surrounded by a dismal winter day in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at a newspaper on a table and the date hopped out at him. January 17 2004, as Castiel had said. Memories came flooding back to him as if they had been yesterday. A hunt with his father only days ago and his resulting condition.

His father's face came to mind clear as a photograph. Though his memories of John were clear and filled with as much joy as pain, John's face had begun to fade from mind. A fact he found only mildly distressing. Now every wrinkle every blemish was as clear as if he'd seen his father only yesterday. But really it was only yesterday. A point that was driven home when Dean hobbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The slightly bruised face that stared back at him was soft edged and lacking all his manly maturity. My God I'm only twenty-four. Dean would have to consider the ramifications of that very carefully. The FBI routine he and Sam had been favouring of late would be very hard to pull off with this face. And Sam? Sam was only twenty and still in Stanford. This was both comforting and disturbing at the same time. Dean needed to sort his thoughts and make a plan. The beginning of the end was just years away and he had to change it. The million dollar question was how. A cup of bad coffee and a shower helped clear out some of the confusion and gave him the energy to face the day. But a good breakfast would help.

Problems with ribs were old news to Dean, bruised cracked or broken, he'd known it all. But the gash on his leg was surprising. Torn muscle could make every step a trial especially on a sprained ankle but Dean couldn't make himself use the cane left for him at the door. An wicker hook used by old men? Not Dean Winchester. As Dean hobbled to the motel diner for a late breakfast he remembered the circumstances that landed him alone in the motel. A hunt with his father that could have made Dean an orphan if he hadn't acted fast, but it wasn't fast enough for John. Why he couldn't back John up without being hurt was the subject of a long lecture given after Dean was patched up and resting. Dean remembered wanting to ask his father why he couldn't do the job without needing to be rescued but he didn't. It's heard to fight back when someone is making you feel two inches tall. Dean pushed these memories aside as they were churning up acids in his stomach. Accompanying the usual feelings of shame and rejection was something new. Anger. No he didn't want to think about it, he would not torture himself with those memories. Dean had more important things to do.

After a hearty breakfast Dean made a stop at a stationary store for a thick journal one larger and heavier than his fathers and a second black leather covered version of John's that would match the one he kept hidden in his bag. His second stop was to upgrade his laptop to the latest notebook with wireless internet access and his third was a cyber café. Dean needed to do a little research to orient himself in this time and the dump of a motel he was staying at certainly didn't have Internet. Funny how every little town they stayed at had one of these café's even if it was just an extension of the local coffee shop.

As text came up on the screen Dean began to have flashes in his mind. Names, dates, histories and locations. He gave his head a shake to try and clear his mind of these random images but they just kept coming. He then resorted to writing them down in the hopes that that would satisfy any subconscious compulsion he might have. Besides as bizarre as the flashes were they had to mean something. When he looked at the list he knew they did. Castiel's things that might help him! Couldn't he have just said something Dean grumbled to himself. Yet he now had a starting point to create his save Sam and avert the Apocalypse plan but one that required more research. It took a full day of pounding away at the keyboard to make sense of what was in his mind and sort it into a plan. The one catch was his father. He needed an excuse to be in the area of Berkeley and there was only one kind that would suit his father. It was the dinner hour and Dean had been in the café all day. His butt was sore, his eyes were strained and he couldn't bring himself to having soup and a sandwich for dinner. Finding a hunt would have to wait.

As Dean packed his notebook and journals for the day his eyestrain faded as a vision sat down in front of him. Soft brown eyes, tousled dark hair and smiling ruby red lips in a well rounded package. Dean smiled back.

"Glad you finely decided to put that away." she said, "Not a lot of strangers pass through this little podock and I was wondering what brought you? I'm Carrie."

Dean had a million answers for that question that would peek her interest and was about to deliver one when a voice in his head said his charm and the truth was all he needed. His gut reaction to the thought was a sarcastic 'yah right' but his second was maybe a good night's sleep was in order so, what the hell.

"I'm Dean and I'm just passing through really, stopping to rest after a hard case." he answered with his most becoming smile and waited to hear her excuse for leaving.

"Must have been a very hard case to give you that chin." She remarked of his bruises, "What exactly do you do?"

_Think fast Winchester,_ "I find missing people, protect families, hunt bad guys, that sort of thing."

"A detective like a PI or something?" She asked an excited smile coming to her face.

"That's right." Dean smiled amazed that he was getting away with this.

"Did you investigate someone here." She asked her eyes growing wider.

"Well in the neighbourhood but you know I can't talk about my work." Dean hoped a little mystery would insight more interest, "Client confidentiality, very important."

Disappointment flickered in the pretty girl's face for only a moment then the excited smile returned. She took him to a place that served great burgers and fries and listen with wonder to a few stories. All were suitably vague and modified to a none supernatural form. Finding jobs that could be explained in normal world terms was difficult and the alterations took effort so he filled in the gaps in conversation by asking her about herself. A sit down dinner date was not Dean's usual format but it felt like a tantalizingly normal thing to do. The end of the evening took a very unfortunate turn when Dean rose to use the facilities and found he could hardly move. He had kept his painkillers to a minimum to keep a clear head and the pain caught up with him. Dean turned white and dropped back in the chair. The evening turned from awkward to embarrassing after that. Carrie began to fuss over him, something he didn't like family doing, and insisted he go straight to bed. Thank God she stopped short of tucking him in.

The next morning Dean was smiling after only and hour of surfing news articles. He had forgotten that job, a tricky one. He would have a good excuse for it taking more than a few days. Dean had already checked out of his Motel in Burns Junction, Oregon and was ready to hit highway 95, his destination a little town, Clearlake California about a hundred miles out of San Francisco. In and about the San Francisco area many interesting things can be found such as Alcatraz, the golden gate bridge, and esteemed institutions like Berkeley in a little town unimaginatively named Berkeley and Stanford in another town more fantastically called Palo Alto. Dean was smiling to himself, get the goods and visit Sam all in one trip. His smile froze when a apple cinnamon Danish was placed on the table in front of him and Carrie sat down. Now this made absolutely no sense. The date ended in a total bust.

"Wow you're here again. My lucky day but I only have a minute or two before my ride comes." She said with a touch of regret, "Thanks for a terrific time Dean." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, "I don't suppose you'll be in town much longer. Oh damn there's my ride."

"I wish but no." Dean answered with a grin despite his confusion. Hadn't he blown that date?

A cute, but not Dean's type, girl waved from the coffee counter and Carrie was off with a sad sigh and a grumbled, "If you're ever back this way look me up."

Maybe he hadn't, though Dean couldn't imagine why not. He gave her a smile as he watched her leave then didn't give her another thought.

* * *

It was good to be on the road again. Clearlake, was a rather depressed little town of barely 12,000 people with almost a quarter living below the poverty line. It wasn't any more remarkable a town this time as it was the last and the events that brought him here were too familiar to make Clearlake memorable. He had driven hard stopping only to snooze in the car arriving in time for a late dinner. He was annoyed with himself for having to stop but his leg and ribs would not be ignored. It was too late to do anything accept check into a motel and he would make sure this one had internet access. With a bacon cheeseburger, fries and large cola beside the computer Dean checked the local reports. By the time he and John had come to Clearlake seventeen had died but that was a year from know. Dean grinned only eight were dead. There would be no denying the validity of the job and nine would be saved that hadn't the last time. One of them a thirteen year old girl.

When Dean and John arrived the job looked like a salt and burn and all research supported that conclusion. The so called suicides where all connected to the death of a disfigured boy, David Locksley, who had been cruelly treated by many of the children and even some of the adults of the town. Having reached his limits the boy slit his wrists. The victims all bled out from slit wrists in a locked room with no weapon in sight. The catch, David had been cremated and the victims were in their own homes. The most likely suspect was his mother who had sworn revenge just day's before she died of a heart attack; but how was she getting to the victims homes? They were wrong. Less than twenty-four hours after lighting up Mrs. Locksley's remains another victim was added to the list. It took weeks to discover that David's mother kept a handkerchief she had dipped in her son's blood in a little silver case that had been passed to her daughter Karen. The hanky was traveling to church every Sunday allowing David to body hop.

With a great deal of cursing Dean confirmed all he needed. He was perfectly capable of hacking and surfing and doing anything else that was needed on the computer but it took work and effort on his part. It came so much easier to Sam and Dean had grown accustomed to having his geek brother doing the lion's share of the geek work. Dean finished off his burger and fries and climbed into bed, just one bed, alone. He couldn't stop himself from looking to his right at the empty space where Sam should be, then images of the last time he saw his little brother flashed in his mind. A painful nauseating rush pulsed through him creating tears behind his eyes and an ache in his heart. He knew he had done everything he could to find another way and it was Sam's decision but couldn't help feeling guilty. But now he was on the most important mission of his life and he had no time for guilt.

Dean took a day to case the home of Karen Draper and establish routines before deciding when and how to go in after the silver case. Though he remembered the case was kept in Karen Draper's, bedroom a B&E in his current condition wasn't a wise move. Dean was getting his jumpsuit and the little gas sniffing probe like looking gadget ready for the 'checking for gas leaks' routine he was going to use to get into the house when John called.

"How's the leg, are you fit for duty yet?" John asked.

"Sort of I'm working a job. A salt and burn." Dean answered them took the phone from his ear so his eardrum wouldn't be broken.

"You're doing what?" John bellowed.

"Eight people dead, an apparent rash of suicides, seven teenagers and one adult all with their wrists slashed and vengeance is mine written in blood on a wall. They were are all connected to a kid, David Locksley, who committed suicide eighteen months ago but he was cremated. On the other hand the killings started shortly after the heart attack of David's mother. David's class had come to his funeral and at the memorial Mrs. Locksley accused them of being responsible for his suicide. She said they would pay for what they did to her son. Five members of that class are now dead two fifteen year old neighbourhood boys who used to taunt David and a shop owner who wouldn't let David in his store."

"And you decided to go there without me because?"

"I couldn't get you on the phone."

"And you just couldn't wait?"

"Dad if the pattern holds some one's going to die on Sunday." Dean snapped. "It's a simple salt and burn, I'll be checking out the grave tomorrow but if you want to come I'll wait." Dean finished and held his breath. John was headed for Montana to meet two hunters for a big job. It wasn't likely he'd beg out of it.

"Where is this place?" John asked and Dean cursed silently.

"Clearlake, California. It's a hundred miles north of San Francisco."

"You just happened to find a hunt a hundred miles from your brother?" John roared, "It's not like you to lie to me Dean, I'm damned disappointed in you. Now get your ass in gear and meet me in Montana in three days. Is that clear."

"I'm not lying and it's no coincidence." Dean held his ground, something he might not have done seven years ago. "You always said it was my job to protect Sammy so I keep an eye on the area around him so if anything gets within a hundred miles of Palo Alto I can take it down. It's damned deliberate. This spirit isn't going to hurt Sammy but I found it and it's killing people so I'm here. I'll meet you in Montana as soon as I can.

"Are to disobeying me, Dean!" John roared.

"Would you walk away from a hunt when people are dieing?" Dean asked, "What kind of pathetic person would I have to be to just walk away. That blood would be on my hands."

"Dean! Dean!" John kept trying to interrupt and finely Dean let him, "If I believed there really was a hunt….."

"I don't lie to you." Dean yelled back, "Get on the net yourself and check it out. I have a big day ahead of me. Talk to you later dad."

Dean stared at the phone in his hand marvelling at what he had just done. The Dean of 2004 would never have hung up on his father. Dean wished he could take pride in standing up for himself but this wasn't how he wanted his first contact with his father to go.

* * *

John Winchester stared at the phone in his hand trying to comprehend what had just happened. Dean yelled at him, fought with him and even hung up on him. This had to be an omen. A sign of the Apocalypse. He got on the internet to check out Dean's story and felt a little bad for accusing him of lying. So he was justified in arguing but so aggressively? That was frighteningly unDean like. John had put a lot of effort into moulding his eldest into a loyal and obedient soldier, and he thought he had succeeded admirably. Dean was as dedicated to John's cause as he, responded to commands like a professional solder and was a resourceful and talented hunter. Everything John wanted in a son. What could make him behave in such a defiant and disrespectful manner, so against his character. He would keep an eye on the situation.

* * *

Dean parked a safe distance from the Locksley family house waiting for Karen's husband Mark to leave for work. She was in the last month of her pregnancy and the first month of her maternity leave or it would have been so much simpler to break in the back door after she had left for her job at the bank. He had two days before David would slip the case into Karen's purse and possess another victim at church but on the weekend, Mark would be home making matters even harder. Dean gave it another half hour after she was alone before approaching the house and presenting his finely forged Gas Company identification card.

"We're checking all the houses in the neighbourhood Mam." Dean gave his best, ah shucks I'm just trying to serve the community, song and dance.

"I haven't noticed any strange smells." Karen hesitated.

"Well that's good." Dean smiled his most charming smile, "We were hoping it hadn't reached this far and it doesn't seem to have but let me make sure. You don't want to take any chances with the little one, do you?"

Karen's hand flew to her swollen abdomen and she immediately invited Dean in. He advised her to stay down stairs while he checked both floors. He wondered around a little so she could hear him moving before getting the silver case from under the jewellery box and trotted down stairs and announced everything was clear. Just for show Dean did a quick sweep of the main floor and reassured her everything was fine but it wasn't a clean getaway. He was a Winchester and thus nothing can ever be easy. As Karen escorted him through the living room David's spirit appeared the knife he used to slice his wrists ready to use. Dean shoved Karen behind him and popped off the back off the dummy gas meter where his sawed off shotgun was hidden.

"You think I didn't see." David raged. "I live here, this is my house."

"Dude you don't live at all." Dean couldn't help flashing a cocky grin, his rant allowed Dean the time to pull out his gun and fire.

"David?" Karen stammered, "David, that was my brother David. He's dead!"

"Yes and he's been a very bad boy." Dean answered pulling her none to gently to the fire place and sitting her down.

He pulled out the silver case and dropped a small canister of salt and lighter fluid down while standing guard. As expected David reappeared.

"I won't let you kill me." He snarled.

"Dude you're already dead." he replied, and told Karen, "Soak the handkerchief with lighter fluid add salt and burn it."

"I will not! My mother cherished this. I's my brothers blood." Karen protested.

"And it's keeping him here killing people." Dean barked, "He'll kill me if he can."

"No." Karen couldn't believe it.

David flickered in and out of existence or so it appeared and suddenly he was on top of them the blade raised to slash Dean. As Dean pulled the trigger another voice cried out, 'David no' in unison with Karen's horrified 'No'.

A woman little more that fourty-five stood in the middle of the room. She must have been an attractive lady early in life with soft brown eyes, honey coloured hair and a sweet face, but distress and hardship had taken its toll creating creases around her eyes and mouth and thinning her hair. She stood before them in an attractive cocktail length dress looking every bit the mother in distress.

"Oh my God, Oh my God." Karen repeated over and over again as she stared at a glowing light that whispered in her mother's voice.

As Dean pulled the spent cartridges from the sawed he turned to face the new presence. David reappeared his pallid face contorted with rage, his strange black rimmed eyes ablaze.

"Not my mother!" he roared charging at Dean from a new direction.

Mrs. Locksley jumped in front of her son crying, "David, you must stop!"

Karen saw the light move and heard her mother's faint disembodied voice. David ran right threw the light the experience casing both intense pain and slowing David down enough for Dean to finish reloading and fire. While trying to keep an eye out Dean grabbed the hanky and began soaking it with lighter fluid but before he could salt it the enraged spirit reappeared almost on top of him. Dean gave him a spray of salt but not before taking a slash at the shoulder.

"I can't control David you have to help him." Mrs Locksley barked at her daughter. "David must be stopped. He's killing people."

Dean asked an hint of pleading in his voice, "Salt it."

"Murder!" David screamed at Dean and Mrs. Locksley charged at him again.

"Dude, you killed yourself." Dean answered causally taking aim, "And now you're the murder."

As his mother slammed into David, pain seared every inch of his being. He staggered weeping as much from heart break as from pain. Dean was prepared to grab the salt but Karen had finely pulled herself together long enough to do it.

"I'm so sorry David." Mrs. Locksley began to cry as she fell to her knees, "Forgive me."

David looked at his mother confused and distressed, "Momma?"

Not wanting Karen to bare the burden, Dean crouched and dropped a lighter on the hanky. As the handkerchief erupted into flames, flames flared up around David. He cried out for only a moment and disappeared. The cry of a mother in pain lasted longer. Dean had never seen a spirit actively try to help him before but the fact was he might have been killed without her help. She rocked on the floor doubled over holding herself as if in pain. Dean reasoned she was. He knelt beside the grieving woman and hesitantly put a comforting arm around her shoulders. He had no idea what to say, he couldn't tell her David was in a better place. It was very unlikely he was and she probably suspected that. There was nothing he could say to make that easy. From Karen's perspective it looked like Dean was embracing the light. A close and concentrated study of the incredible scene allowed her to perceive the outline of a person, ... almost. Mrs. Locksley pulled herself together and looked up at Dean.

"And who might you be young man?" She asked coming to her feet.

"Dean, I'm a hunter."

"A hunter, you hunt spirits? Should I be afraid?"

"Not unless you intend to start hurting people. And you will." Dean said with a degree of reluctance. "If you stick around, after a while, decades whatever, you'll get frustrated watching life go by and not being able to take part in it. Frustration leads to anger and sooner or later you'll take it out on people. That's where I come in. If it's evil I kill it."

"Does that come from your vast experience?" She asked with a grin.

Dean counted to ten before answering, "Mam, I started training for this job when I was six and I've been doing it for a long time. I'm a lot older than I look, a lot older. And my vast experience includes a lengthy conversation with a reaper."

"I see." Mrs. Locksley responded somewhat subdued then noticed her daughter holding her swollen abdomen. "Karen honey, are you alright?"

"That wasn't a cramp, I'm calling Mark." Karen stammered and got up with help from Dean but only a minute after leaving a message for her husband a splash of fluid hit the floor. Dean offered to help her up stairs making no comment on what he thought was a weak bladder which he supposed was understandable in her condition.

"My water broke." Karen stammered.

"I'm sure that happens to a lot of woman in your condition." he tried to be supportive despite his discomfort.

"She means her embryonic fluid." Mrs. Locksley shook her head at Dean, "She's in labour.

"Okay we go to the hospital, right?" He asked sounding calm despite the slow rise of panic he was feeling. "Should I get the car?"

"The baby could arrive some time tomorrow or in fifteen minutes there's not set rule for this." Mrs. Locksley intervened. "Call the paramedics and hope they get here before the baby does."

"Fifteen minutes." Dean choked.

Dean just glared at Mrs. Locksley for a minute then tore out of the house. For a fleeting moment Karen thought she was abandoned. The Impala came to a screeching halt outside the house and Dean rushed in, scooped Karen up in his arms, and carried her to his car. She was at the hospital in record time. Dean expected getting the pregnant woman to the hospital would end his involvement in this drama but she clung to his hand and begged him to stay with her until Mark came. He wanted to say 'Lady you got to be kidding' and Dean new his expression communicated that sentiment but the word "Sure" came out of his mouth instead. Dean knew nothing about having babies but he quickly saw there was something he could contribute.

He sat on the edge of the bed beside Karen put an arm around her shoulders and spoke quietly into her ear, "Karen I know more about pain than any human being should ever know so if you can trust me I can help you deal here, okay?"

Karen stared at him her eyes wide with shock, unsure of how to take this.

"Occupational hazard." he explained in a whispered, "The whole fighting evil thing. Karen close your eyes and concentrate on relaxing your muscles. You need to focus a little. Start with your neck, stretch it out while pushing your shoulders down. Role your head a little and let go, just relax. Now stretch out your arms, push your shoulders down again and relax. you're doing great. Is that helping, good. We'll keep going." Dean began to massage the back of her neck, "Breath in through your mouth slow and deep then don't just let it out but slowly sort of hiss it out from the back of your throat. Like this." and he demonstrated, "Now you try, in slow and deep then hiss it out." He had her try it several times, "It's all about separating yourself from your pain, mentally removing yourself from whatever hurts and controlling muscle reaction. Trust me it helps a lot."

Dean coached Karen through the labour massaging her neck and shoulders and rubbing her hands and feet, something he was known to do under very different circumstances. He found back rubs were also appreciated but as the contractions came closer together Dean found most of his efforts centered on relaxing the muscles in her face, neck and shoulders and helping her with her breathing. All the while Dean tried to help Karen focus her mind away from her pain. She asked him to tell her about David and her mother. What did he mean when he said he hunted evil. Dean did his best to keep the shock level down as he answered her questions as vaguely as he could get away with. As the sweat beaded on Karen's face and the strain grew Dean began to wonder if he was doing any good. He really wasn't trained for this.

"How are we doing in here." A nurse asked as the doctor examined Karen.

"Not as bad as I thought it would be." Karen said between breaths.

"Most people say the exact opposite." The nurse commented, "You must be one hell of a good coach, Mr. Draper."

"Karen you're fully dilated." the doctor announced, "It's time to push."

Dean wanted to scream 'But I'm not Mr. Draper, I should not be here.' but he wasn't going to abandon the lady at this point. He tried to keep his eyes on Karen's face to avoid invading her privacy though the point was rather moot. There was a crowd after all. The sound of an infant's cry pulled his eyes to the gynaecologist and nurse. After fifteen years and more of living knee deep in death a new life was brought into the world before his eyes. 'It really is a miracle' he thought as he gazed in awe at the little bundle the nurse placed in his arms. It was red and veiny and wrinkled like a prune but it was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. He looked down at Karen exhausted, covered in sweat and flush from pain and found her beautiful as well.

He helped Karen hold her precious little bundle to her breast until her arms grew steady and confident. Another hour passsed before Mark showed up confused and disappointed that he missed the birth of his daughter. Dean treasured every second watching the first minutes of the baby's life and seeing the pure love and joy in her mothers eyes. He had never witnessed a scene so perfect in his life. Dean's admiration for woman took on a whole new dimension. He appreciated them as lovers, he respected them as friends, and now he was in awe of them as givers of life. With Marks arrival Dean began to fell like an intruder and rose to leave. He congratulated them both and tried to make a quick unobtrusive dash for the door but Karen stopped him.

"If it weren't for Dean I would have had my baby alone at home." Karen said telling her husband more of the tail, "Anything could have gone wrong, we could have lost her. Mark if it's alright with Dean I want to name her Deannie."

"You don't have to do that." Dean said in a great rush thinking she probably wouldn't have gone into labour if he hadn't been there.

"I know what you did for me, for all of us." She said in a very pointed way, "Please let us do this. I really like the sound of Deannie. What do you think honey?" she asked her husband.

Though he only had a moments explanation of how the gas man happened to be there, at that moment Mark would have agreed with anything.

'_I don't deserve this_' "If it's what you want, I'd be honoured." Dean answered, thinking I'm such a wuss.

It was time to leave the happy couple to themselves. Besides the job wasn't finished. Dean hopped into the Impala and headed back to Karen and Mark Draper's house, formally the Locksley home. Someone locked up though Dean knew neither he nor Karen had. Perhaps Mark had come home looking for Karen. Or. He just smiled at the door and had it open in seconds.

"Olli olli oxen free." He called as he wandered around the house eventually climbing the stairs. "Common don't make me perform a summoning ritual, they are no fun."

"Very well." Mrs. Locksley appeared in front of Dean.

"What are you doing still here?" Dean asked a hint of sympathy in his voice, he did know how she felt, sort of, "Do you want to wind up like your son?"

"I'm not emotionally disturbed. I just want to see my grandchild grow up." Mrs. L. snapped.

"And see is all you can do." Dean countered. "Maybe you'll be able to reach your daughter again but not likely. How often is she going to be in a heightened state like that. You'll be alone watching life going on around you, unable to be apart of it, touch it, completely helpless, useless. The anger grows and eventually you strike out. Then I show up after, how many are dead?" Dean paused to let her think about that, "You move on now and you're going to a better place but if you wait and I move you on then well I don't know but do you want to take the chance?"

Mrs. L. walked over to a window at the end of the upstairs hall that looked out over the western horizon. The sun was still high colouring the sky. She always loved this time of day when the sun painted the sky with shades of orange, red and yellow. It was early, there would be hours of beauty yet to come.

"Was it a boy or a girl?" She asked.

"Beautiful little girl." Dean answered and she smiled but it only lasted a minute.

"I'm afraid." She finely admitted.

"Don't blame you." Dean didn't say what she wanted to hear.

"Do you know if there is a hell?"

"Absolutely."

"And heaven?" She asked after a frightened pause

"There is and a God if that helps, and Angles and all that." Dean gave her the bare bones.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know. Just let go of whatever's keeping you here." Dean offered hating how much he sounded like Jennifer Love Hewitt, "You stayed for a reason, now give it a pass."

Mrs. L. stared out the hall window at the western sky she loved so much and thought of how her daughter no longer needed her and this life wasn't really hers any longer. She thought instead of a good man, her husband, who had gone ahead and was waiting fore her. She told herself the natural course of events had taken place and it was time. As she watched the sky a peace came over Elizabeth Locksley that she had not felt in a long time and it showed in her face.

As Dean watched she smiled and sighed in contentment her eyes never wavering from her view and a moment later in a sudden blaze of light she vanished.

"Whowe." Dean breathed, "Better than the first time I saw that."

Dean decided right then and there it was time to exit. He was packed and out of town with in the hour and in Berkeley in two. His ribs and leg were healing but still painful and he wanted to rest. Dean waited till the following day to locate the Religious studies Department of Berkeley and found exactly where they were keeping the Rosary of Ste. Louis-Marie Gregnion de Montfort. Dean could almost hear Castiel whispering in his ear, that it was a sacred object he needed in order to read. Dean's research revealed the Saint was a priest and missionary born in 1673 who had a powerful affect on most around him. He believed in the poverty of the priesthood, charity, in the care and teaching of the poor and he lived what he preached. Most of all Ste. Louis-Marie had a talent for preaching, and converting people. There were reports of miracles after his death in 1716 and a tale or two about people speaking in tongs when holding his rosary. Dean had no idea what he was supposed to do with it but he trusted the Angel. Dean gave Berkley and the surrounding area careful study. A good B and E took time to plan, but not a great deal if you're Dean Winchester. Practice does make perfect. Dean would not be reckless even if he was pressed for time. There were past experiences he did not want to repeat. Getting in should be easy, but out might be a little tricky.

Getting in was a simple matter of acquiring a maintenance uniform, forging an ID card and disguising himself. One of many experiences he did not want to repeat was being one of the ten most wanted. To that end Dean did not buy but obtained a complete disguise kit. (So there would be not trace of the acquisition) Dean didn't know a great deal about make up but he could do simple things and knew how to use spirit gum. Donning a wig, a beard and aging himself with a little makeup Dean became a maintenance man complete with a tool belt. His uniform gained him access to the University buildings wiring and he learned what kind of alarm system was in place but he couldn't turn it off at the junction, (they weren't complete idiots) He was able to set up an electronic time bomb in a control panel to make it a little easier for him. The back up system would kick in but not quickly enough to stop Dean.

Conscious of 'anything' that could identify him Dean stashed the Impala half way across town and returned to Berkeley on a stolen motorcycle wearing a dark beard, shoulder length hair and carrying a mop and pail rather than a tool belt. He took his time and made a show of doing the job of a member of the cleaning crew waiting for his time bomb. Dean planned his work to be at the correct door at precisely eleven thirty. The lights were suddenly out and seconds later an alarm sounded but Dean was through the security door and gone before the backup system came on. Now he had to be out of the building before the security guards, after finding his bomb, found him.

The camera's were only at main doors so once in Dean hurried purposefully to an office, opened it's simple wall safe in under a minute and found the rosary in a little cloth pouch with a draw string top. Dean's plan for getting in was elegant in its simplicity. Now for the grand exit. They must have found the bomb by now and are looking for someone. Yep more alarms.

He couldn't pass close scrutiny so leaving the way he came in was out of the question. The only exit not watched was a window that would set off an alarm the minute it was opened and he was three stories up. He could delay that alarm for a minute with a laser router, putting it on Dean to get through the window and close it in one minute. He attached a fishing line to the window latch to pull it closed, had a harness on and the routers in place. Seven minutes since the bomb. Securing himself to the wall was going to be the hard part. He would have to balance on a narrow window ledge and secure his harness to a grate over the window in order to propel down. They should be close soon. Ready, set, Dean pulled open the window and jumped on the ledge holding the fishing line in one hand and reached for the grate with the other. Damn it the ledge was wet and he slipped but didn't drop the fishing line that would relock the window however the grappling hook slid from his shoulder. Dean managed to secure his feet to the ledge and pull the window shut with only a couple of seconds to spare. But he was now on the ledge with his grappling hook dangling a story below him while balancing precariously by the tips of his toes. The ledge looked a lot bigger when he was staring at it through binoculars yesterday.

"Nice work Winchester." Dean berated himself, "But I'm out and no ones found me yet so that's something."

Slowly, carefully Dean started pulling the rope up with one hand, rapping it around his neck and shoulder until he had the hook and was able to set it into the grid. Once set it only took seconds to propel down the wall and he was pleased to be able to coax the hook out of the grid. From the shelter of a small stand of trees by a near by building Dean grinned with satisfaction as the security team searched the area only minutes after he vacated it. But hanging around to gloat was a dangerous thing. Dean left on the stolen bike and abandoned it far from the motel he had checked out of earlier. He was already checked into a motel in Palo Alto when the reports of the robbery at Berkeley hit the news.

Dean waited until morning before calling his dad and telling him that it wasn't the mother in Clearlake after all and he would have to find out what was keeping the boy there. Dean held his breath and waited hoping, praying John wouldn't declare he was coming to do the job himself. John made a few comments about not being thorough in his research and told him to hurry up, he wanted Dean in Washington in a week. That gave Dean a day or two to visit with Sam before setting off to Casa Grande in search of the next item on Castiel's list, the Nindanu Malturu Quradu.

* * *

*** Ste. Louis-Marie Gregnion de Montfort was renowned for his piety and his dedication to helping the poor and built a hospital and many missions for them and was known for his devotion to our Blessed Mother Mary. Although many miracles are attributed to the good saint I invented the sacred rosary for this story.**

**** Berkeley does have a highly respected religious studies department. **


	3. Chapter 3 Marathon

**Own them, I wish. Sent them home late last night.**

**If you're still enjoying the story let me know in your reviews. Suggestions for improvement wouldn't hurt either.**

**Yet another chapter reproofed and touched up.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**MARATHON**

Once arriving in Palo Alto Dean wasted not time calling a very startled Sam. He had visited his little brother around Christmas and like his previous visits it didn't end well. They parted angry after fighting about their father. Dean hadn't wanted to talk about him but somehow they always managed to find their way to that battle ground. It was only January and Sam hadn't expected or want Dean back so soon. His big brother's visits were a tedious exorcise in frustration and aggravation that Sam was having trouble justifying to himself. The only thing he gained from them, was a reminder of what he was running from and why. When he was a small boy, Dean had always been there for him, cared for him almost like a parent. Leaving him behind hadn't been easy even if, as with all older brothers, Dean was a bossy pain in the ass. But with each visit saying goodbye got easier and the thought of never seeing him again upset him less. It was far to soon after the last visit yet for reason's unknown Sam accepted the invitation for a night out.

Dean tracked down the nearest pool hall and fattened his wallet ensuring a night out without having to stop to earn money use a fraudulent credit card to pay the bill and was waiting five minutes early in front of Sam's dorm. It was April of this year that Sam would tell Dean not to come back. First and foremost that would have to be avoided and Dean planned the evening with that goal in mind. He would have to make Sam want to see him.

Sam and Dean were always two very different people but they were all they had as they traveled from town to town and that made for a close bond. When Sam's struggles against their father's will began, a rift between the brothers formed. The four years of conflict started out slow and focused on John but grew over time and Dean adopted the role of referee and peacemaker. A job that grew increasingly impossible. Sam had expected the brother who'd been his guardian and protector to be on his side and support him in his bid to lead his own life. Dean had at least attempted to champion him in the past and even broke the rules for him from time to time. Sam felt abandoned in the fight and when Dean would beg him to try and see their fathers point of view he concluded that in the final analysis Dean was just like their dad. He was Dean's hero after all.

Mending this fence would be an uphill battle for Dean but having this opportunity to change Sam's fate was a delight beyond description. He hardly noticed the effort he went to, to make the perfect evening. But he should have slowed down, taken a rest. He hadn't fully recovered from the job with his dad, and the ride on the motorcycle put a strain on his battered leg. Spotting Sam at the top of the steps, Dean got out of the Impala to greet him and promptly dropped to the ground momentarily dazed.

"Are you alright?" a soft feminine voice asked.

"Yah, I'm fine." Dean answered lamely but perked up when the beautiful face of a young college girl came into view.

'Dean trying to pick up a girl totally ignoring me, what's knew.' Sam thought.

"Just working to hard I guess." Dean offered a safe excuse.

"Maybe you need a break." She suggested.

"Maybe that's just what I need." Dean agreed putting his most charming smile in place.

"Dean are you finished." Sam's grumbled impatiently cutting into the moment.

Dean's whole mood shifted. A surge of irritation gave his stomach a little twist as he wondered what he'd done to upset Sam. After all his careful planning to win his little brother's approval, all he had to do was smile at a girl and Sammy was out of sorts. With Sam pulling away at a break neck speed with absolutely no motivation to turn back this wasn't going to be an uphill battle, it was 'Mission Impossible'. 'You must demand the respect of your brother the oracle said. Dean did not blink, did not appear to hesitate.

In a causal manner he said, "I'm Dean and that rude individual is my little brother Sam. I'm in town visiting."

"I'm Rachelle. There's a party at my sorority house. It's not closed if you're interested." She answered and handed him a piece of paper with her name, the sorority address and number on it, "I'd really like you to come. You will come won't you?"

"I'll do my best."

'No, don't invite me out, make me change my plans then dump me for a girl' Sam thought growing in irritation, "Dean can we go." he insisted more than asked.

"College girls, so friendly." Dean hummed watching the enticing sway of her hips as she strolled away.

She paused to glance over her shoulder one last time, flashing him a big inviting smile before disappearing into a group of girls who paused to take a peek too.

"She so wants me." Dean grinned then turned his attention to his surly, little brother.

Sam sprouted up tall and gangly when he hit sixteen and remained so, growing an inch every month. Now at six foot four he decided to stop his upward climb and began to fill out. His face was young, innocent and free of the pain and dark knowledge of the Sam of 2010. Dean wished he could freeze this moment forever. He sighed with regret for what could never be.

With a friendly smile Dean said. "Sammy, looking good. Damned rude, but looking good."

"What?" Sam was taken by surprise. A strange complement insult combo?

"You're filling out, starting to look like a man but you whine like a brat." Dean grinned giving him the standard slap on the shoulder. "I know just where to go for food. The best stakes I've had in ages. Come on, get in, oh watch your head sasquatch."

"Stake not hamburgers?" Sam asked surprised.

When Sam started having meals at friends houses his eating habits began to change. Dean's cooking skills were very limited but he did try to accommodate his little brother by learning how to make such foods as spaghetti, stew, chicken, even meatloaf and pot roast, but it wasn't until some time after Sam told Dean to never come back that Sam began his health food regiment. What it was that changed his eating habits Dean didn't know but at the moment a good steak was still one of Sam's favourite meals.

A bar. Bar's and diners where else would Dean eat, but it did have a surprisingly appealing menu for an establishment of it's kind and the clientele were working class, not bikers. The decor was pleasantly none descript the music neutral, and though the pretty waitress was getting a lot of attention from Dean it wasn't stopping the food from coming. Sam tried to relax and enjoy himself but the thought of being put through another one of these nights so soon after the last kept him on edge. He couldn't think of a single thing to say to his brother. The more time he spent away from Dean, the more he realized they had nothing in common other than shared parentage and the supernatural. Sam desperately wished he could forget both existed. Well there was one thing Dean always liked to talk about. Even if he thought his brothers habits were rather degrading and repulsive it wouldn't lead to a fight. Sam asked if the college girl was going to be tonight and this waitress tomorrow. It was strange how Dean's face went blank for a moment, then a small smile appeared and he said 'Sam you're disgusted by my promiscuous life style. Since I don't want to sit here and look at you staring disapprovingly at me why don't we not talk about it.' Sam needed time to recover from the mild retort but Dean carried on as if it was business as usual.

Dean ordered a pitcher of draft and promptly asked Sam what he was up to. The question wasn't completely out of character but Dean seemed to be genuinely interested, wanting to understand what was keeping Sam in school. In the previous visits Dean had made to Stanford he never paid a great deal of attention to Sam's classes quickly growing bored with talk of studies. Dean wanting info about classes and extra curricular activities was spooking Sam. One thing that was normal was Dean taking about hunting. He seemed to be leaning heavily on the funny stories or stories he thought were funny. But, 'You should have seen' and "You should have been there' still kept popping up from time to time. Sam's stress levels grew while waiting for the axe to fall and it was ruining a rather good meal. Dean was acting to much like a normal person, it had to be big. The only thing to do was push and get it over with.

"Dean, will you just hit me with it?" Sam complained at the end of his rope. "I can't take this any more. Just stop, you're making me crazy."

"Stop what?" Dean asked startled.

"Just hit me with whatever you came here for. I'm tired of waiting." Sam pushed.

"Give me a hint." Dean asked shrugging his shoulders in utter confusion. "What am I supposed to say?"

"You're sitting here like a normal person having an almost normal conversation. I know what you think of normal. You hate it, but look at you." Sam marvelled both awed and angry, "My God if I didn't know better I'd think you were comfortable, even enjoying this horribly mundane unimaginative normal night out. What are you up to, Dean?"

"I was enjoying myself until a minute ago," Dean decided to go offensive rather than his usual defensive which never worked, "Just because a house, a white picket fence and two and a half kids isn't my life doesn't mean I hate normal people. A guy doesn't put his life on the line every day for people he hates. Why can't I sit here with my brother and have a nice dinner and a few beers? I earned a night off and I was having a great time until you went bitch on me. Why do you do that Sam? Why are you picking a fight with me?"

Sam stammered completely taken aback by the answer. His jaw waggled soundlessly a few times at such a complete loss for words, he couldn't come up with a rational retort. In desperation Sam tossed out old reliable 'I am not' but it sounded as juvenile to Sam as it did to Dean.

"Sammy, you keep trying to bring dad into the conversation." Dean declared putting his knife and fork down. "For the past hour every time I told you about something you asked what did dad do or what did he say or whatever. I know if we talk about him or our childhood we'll fight so let's don't. I want to have a nice time, you know laugh and catch up and shit. Can we do that Sammy?"

"Don't put this all on me." Sam snapped. "If I say one thing against your hero or your great quest you fly off the handle. You're so defensive. I'm just going to college and I'm treated like a traitor. I have a right …"

"There it is, the fight. Why are you bitching at me about what dad did?" Dean interrupted, surprised by his own anger. " What's between you and dad has nothing to do with me."

"Come on Dean, you were right there with him." Sam fired back, "You always agree with everything he does."

"Because I'm not screaming in his face doesn't mean I agreed with everything he says and does." Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Name one time when you were on my side." Sam scoffed.

"I wasn't on either side, you were both wrong most of the time." Dean snapped right back, "How can you expect me to take sides, that's totally unfair."

"He was wrong." Sam insisted.

Dean heaved a big sigh and signalled the waitress who hurried over with a big smile on her face which slipped when he said "Cheque please."

Dean had to stop this before it was to late. He would end up falling back on the tried and worthless 'He's trying to protect us.' Sam never accepted that argument before and of late Dean was beginning to doubt the validity of it. On one hand John insisted they stay with him so he can keep them safe yet he wasn't there to protect them most of their childhood. 'But that was my job.' Dean told himself as he always did but now he asked, 'But who was protecting me?' How could he argue a point he didn't wholly believe anymore? It was dangerous water to tread in and Dean didn't want to go there.

"Dean?" Sam was caught off guard again. Dean didn't walk out on him, he walked out on Dean. They didn't leave him, he left them. "What are you doing?"

"Going to a party, Sam."

"A party, sounds like fun." The waitress commented.

"Well, I wouldn't know, I've never been to a sorority party." Dean smiled so becomingly Sam could see her melting. "I've got to check this out. See if it's like the movies."

"Well if it doesn't work out." She said and added a little note to his copy of the bill. "Call me. I'm off at one."

"I love the service here." Dean said with a satisfied smirk. Dean threw Sam a wink as he watched the waitress sashay to the cash register.

"Just like that, conversation over, you're walking out on me." Sam demanded stymied. "I don't believe you."

"What conversation. You're telling me off." Dean snapped as he threw a ten on the table and headed for the door.

"I'll listen when you have something new to say." Sam replied.

"How often have I heard that one." Dean cried as he burst out of the tavern door. "You and dad always singing the same song. You know, if you two weren't so busy yelling at each other you'd realize you're two of a kind."

"That's a cheep shot and totally ridiculous." Sam snarled grabbing Dean's arm making him look at him.

"I didn't come here to fight." Dean tried to stop it again afraid of his rising temper, "Can we not do this."

"Oh no, you don't say something like that and walk away." Sam held his ground, "Me and dad? No dude you two are the perfect pair."

Dean stepped back hands raised asking for a time out. He focused himself, pushing down the anger he'd ignored so much of his life then turned to Sam again.

"Sam, dad and I play pool and poker and like classic rock and beer. That doesn't mean we're alike." Dean said quietly, "We don't even hunt for the same reasons." Sam only stared his face a picture of mockery, "Dad hunts for revenge and for pride. He can't kill what he wants to so he kills what he can and saving lives is kind of a bonus. He just doesn't know what else to do. If he got what killed mom tomorrow he'd stop the next day. I want revenge too but for me saving people is what's important, killing something evil is a perk. When we get what killed mom I wouldn't stop. There's still lots of evil out there, lots of lives to save."

"You are so brain washed." Sam shook his head in dismay, "The world isn't good and evil, black and white. If you could get your head out of dads ass long enough to see there's a world out here …."

The burn of Dean's anger reached his muscles with a blinding speed and intensity that caught Dean as well as Sam by surprise. He didn't understand why after so many years of listening to Sam's self-righteous indignation, it would so infuriate him now. But the burn was hot and would not be ignored. His eyes flared with a fire Sam never saw directed at him as Dean reached out grabbed him by the lapels and threw him against the Impala with bruising force knocking the wind out of him.

"You don't know shit about me. You don't even know much about the world." Dean hissed inches from Sam's face, "You're as bad as dad, no worse. He has his pain driving him. You have no excuse for being a narrow minded, self-righteous, egocentric, bitch. When you get your head out of your own ass maybe you'll see that the reason you two fought so much is because you're so much alike."

"You can't say that!" Sam roared as he struggled in vain against Dean's grip, "We're total opposites."

"Yah? You think so?" Dean sniffed at him, a malicious smirk on his face. He then gave Sam a shake and stepped back to began a grand address,

"My way is the right way and only way to live, no other way will be tolerated. You will conform to my way and live by my rules or suffer the consequences. Any attempts to question, or subvert my way will be met with hostility ridicule and scorn. Anyone who persistently rebels against my way will be broken or cast out. So says the gospel of John." Dean paused for affect but not long enough for Sam to react,

"The normal way is the right way and the only way to live. No other way will be accepted. You will conform to a normal life within society or be rejected as defective and inferior. Any attempts to question or subvert my normal way will be met with hostility, ridicule and scorn. Anyone who refuses to live my normal way will be shunned. So says the gospel of Sam.

"I've listened to you two singing that same song till I hear it in my sleep. Same rhythm same tempo, bellowed with the same bigoted conviction, with one or two lyrics changed to make it yours."

Sam stared at Dean like a deer caught in a set of head lights. Slowly the shock gave way to confusion and even fear. It was a tall heavy wall of brick Dean had just dropped on him. He knew Sam was made of good tempered steal but was he strong enough to overcome the greatest Winchester failing. When the truth was too horrible to accept, defeat too obvious to ignore, the odds beyond all reason, a Winchester would always resort to his most powerful weapon. Denial. They developed it to a fine art which allowed them to forge ahead in blissful oblivion.

"No …. no." Sam stammered denial threatened to kick in, "I'm not like him you are."

"I don't try to change you." Dean pushed but gentler, "I don't demand you live my life or ridicule you for not choosing it. That's you and dad. I just go my way and hope you'll accept that. I can be naive that way."

"You always defend dad." Sam resisted his eyes crying out his pain.

"Of course I do. He's my dad and I'm a good son."

"But you never defended me." Sam whined moisture rising in his eyes.

"Yes I did." Dean huffed with a laughable dah expression, "I asked him to try and understand you, to cut you some slack, but quietly, respectfully not screaming in his face. He never listens when you scream."

"A lot of good it did."

"Not a lot but some. You didn't start training till you were nine, I was bull's-eyeing pop cans when I was six. You didn't start hunting till you were sixteen I started when I was fourteen. You got to play soccer, I wasn't allowed to play baseball." Dean listed a few differences in their childhoods, "It may not seem like a lot to you cause you wanted so much more but it was a lot to dad."

"So, he's a good father and I'm a lousy son?" Sam choked, "Is that it?"

Smelling failure in the wind Dean sighed with regret, "No Sam, that wasn't the point. Dad barely gave an inch and did that reluctantly. It just wasn't in him to bend. It isn't in you either. It's your way or the highway and I'm pathetic for not agreeing with you. You won't even believe I'm making a choice, I'm a brainwashed idiot following dad like a good little soldier."

It was a difficult pill for Sam to swallow. It was stuck in his throat choking him which made it impossible to ignore. In raging against his father Sam had become him. Or was it as Dean said, they fought because he was his father's son. What did that make him? A self-righteous, egocentric, bitch? Well at the very least a hypocrite and a rotten brother. No, not entirely, but maybe a little.

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam began to give an inch.

"It's okay, Sam." Dean muttered looking around at people milling about the parking lot, "Let's go,"

"No, I want to talk." Sam hedged.

"Dude we're drawing a crowd, get in the car." Dean insisted growing uncomfortable.

"No, you'll turn the stereo on full blast and we won't be able to talk. I don't want to fight, I want to talk, please Dean."

Though Dean's distaste for heart to heart talks had diminished greatly he had not learned to like them as Sam did. He felt exposed, vulnerable and often foolish when putting his feelings on display. As a rule he believed he had no talent in such conversations and little to offer to one. But he knew he had to get over it because this was the only way he was going to reach Sam.

"Fine," He growled, "Now get in the damned car."

Sam got in the car that always said home to him. Though it felt a little off when Dean first got behind the wheel the strangeness faded fast. Sam couldn't remember a time when he wasn't alone with Dean so just the two of them in the Impala quickly became normal and comfortable. It was home and even two years after leaving, it still felt like home and that in itself was a little disquieting. How does one answer the question where's your home with 'traveling down some highway with my brother behind the wheel.' But the feel of the road under the tires, the sound of the engine rumbling in his ears gave him a feeling of security he never had anywhere else. Sam took a minute to enjoy the sensation before getting back to the matter at hand.

"You know you always seem so much alike him." Sam said pondering this new perspective, "You look like him, sound like him, everything like him. You even said you wanted to be just like dad. That you wanted to be a great hunter like him. It was like hero worship."

Sam wouldn't believe the truth and playing this like he felt when he really was twenty four would be a disaster. That left one option. Tell him the truth but dress it up in a package that wouldn't be completely without credibility. He hated honesty. Full on lying felt so much safer. But he had tried reaching Sam his way all his life and it never worked. He had to try something new, but why did it have to be truth?

"Sammy have you noticed that I'm not a kid any more. Kids hero worship their dads, then they grown up." Dean kept it simple, "And I do want to be a great hunter like dad but there's great hunter and them there's great human being. It's not always the same, and on some things dad totally sucks. Don't get me wrong. Even if I don't agree with everything he does, I will defend him, I will protect him and I will show him proper respect. It's called being a good son. But alike?

"A soldier and a mercenary both wear the same uniform, speak the same jargon, and in a lot of ways do the same job but they're two very different breeds of animal. You don't want to mix them up."

"Dean a soldier fights for a country and a mercenary fights for money. The difference isn't that hard to see." Sam answered with a sniff and a laugh.

"It's never that simple." Dean returned with a shake of his head, "Soldiers don't fight for a country so much as they fight for the principals or ideals that it stands for. Mercenaries are loyal to themselves, sometimes to each other, but any principles or ideals they have are their own. It's not part of the breed. You have to scratch deeper than the surface Sam.

"When you're always screaming in someones face you don't hear what they're saying. It was both of you, wanting it your way and only your way. He listened to me because I didn't yell like you to did, not because we were alike or because I agreed with him. I was showing him respect, asking him to hear me out, and just give it some thought. I wasn't making demands or giving orders and I always did it in private so he wouldn't have put on a face for you. "

"You were able to make him listen, change his mind?" Sam was stymied.

"Catch him at the right time, when he's feeling generous it's possible to get him to bend a little but reading him's hard" Dean smiled remembering pleasanter times, "He keeps his cards even closer to the vest then I do. We do it to survive. Dad's developed it to a fine art. The man's a well of secrets."

"Doesn't that piss you off?" Sam asked struggling to understand a brother he only just met, "All that need to know crap. I always felt like I was dangling from a thin rope without knowing if there was a pit or a net under me. He treated us like children and it made me crazy but do you mind?"

"Of course I mind." Dean groaned feeling the soldier point was missed and moved on, "Sammy you leaned on him for years and how far did it get you? Come on a teenaged kid trying to make a grown man back down. You can't still think you can force him to do it your way by screaming in his face?"

"It must have looked pretty funny to you." Sam admitted, "This kid trying to push his dad around."

"The two most important people in my life constantly at each others throats? Not so funny." Dean chuckled and Sam sighed thinking 'I can't say anything right', "But the idea right now, that's funny. Winchester verses Winchester. The immovable object meets the irresistible force."

Laughing, this felt good Sam had to agree, "When Winchesters collide. The big bang."

"Like a pound of C4 going off." Dean laughed even louder, "We'd better be careful this doesn't turn into a chuckle fest."

"Wouldn't that be a sin."

"Hey, sin's my thing" Dean objected then stopped, "Didn't I see in the movies where college is supposed to be big on sin."

"Only in the movies." Sam laughed, "You in college I couldn't even imagine that."

"Which of the many reasons stand out?" Dean ran with the joke, "I'd be bored to tears, the school schedule would cramp my style, I can't stay in one place long enough to complete even one month much less a semester?"

Dean looked at Sam who was avoiding his eyes and his smile was uncomfortable. Now what? Had he hit on a new sore spot? What could be a safer subject? Hoping Sam was only distracted Dean pressed on with the joke.

"Come on Sammy, you can come up with one, like blowing up labs while experimenting with anti monster bombs would get me on the dean's short list."

"I was just thinking back to how much you hated school and I never really knew why when I loved it so much. Just because it didn't work for you then, doesn't mean it can't know. You could do a lot of things Dean, if you just tried. Go to community college to get your mechanic's licence and open a garage. Think of it. You're never happier than when you're working on a car. I'll bet if you played pool or poker every weekend while you were in schoo,l by the time you graduate you'd have enough for a down payment on your own place."

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean said utterly confounded.

Never had Sam ever suggested Dean give up the hunt. The idea would have been preposterous to either of them. Though it was a dream of Sam's often expressed and actively pursued, for Dean is was no more that a fantasy he occasionally toyed with after seeing Lisa and Ben. What could he have said or done in the past couple of hours to draw this wild thought out of Sam?

"I'm just trying to tell you, you should consider a dream or two. You should think for yourself for a change instead of this blind obedience to dad's will. If he's not your hero anymore then why?"

"I hunt because I want too. You remember me telling you it' s not about dad?" Dean answered hoping Sam wouldn't get on his kick again, "I had dreams when I was in school but I had responsibilities. I was looking after you and dad and the dreams got dumped. It's okay, cause what I do is so important. This job, saving people, hunting things."

"You could have so much more." Sam insisted pleading with his brother to see the light and join him in the normal world, the safe world, where the boggy man disappeared sometime around age twelve.

All Dean was hoping for at this point was to establish a good report, to build some trust between them so he could see Sam through the bad times to come. What he seemed to be accomplishing was to open doors to old battles and raise a few new ones. It was the Winchester curse, nothing ever goes as planned . How to answer that without starting a fight? Truth? We're Winchesters, we're cursed and have not choice so get used to it. That would go over well. But there was another truth that once motivated him.

"Sammy what makes you so sure your more is worth so much more?" Dean spoke in a gentle beseeching tone, "Before I came here I was in Clearlake and teenagers were being killed. A specific high school class, one by one were getting their wrists slashed and this spirit had twenty-one more to go. Who knows who he would have gone after when he was finished with them. Think about it. I saved the lives of twenty-one kids and who knows how many more. Pardon me if I think that's a pretty damned good days work. It's a dirty job with no material rewards, damned little praise and no glory, but twenty-one kids get to live. I'll take it any day."

Sam stared at Dean in contemplative silence. He'd heard speeches about saving lives all his life, but they were bellowed or snarled at him in very abstract terms when they were moving. They were an excuse to move to new hunting grounds. They were why dad disrupted his life yet again. This was not abstract but tangible, countable human lives saved. It was about specific people, spoken with reverence and respect and even a hint of humility.

"Think about it dude." Dean went on when Sam remained silent, "It took eight graves to get me there and one of them was a twelve year old boy who wasn't in the class."

"Some other hunter would have picked up on it eventually." Sam offered lamely.

"Eventually. Nice Sammy, after how many parents buried their kids so I could go to college?" Dean groaned, "Why should someone else do it, why not me?"

"Why shouldn't you have a life?" demanded Sam.

"That's what you don't get." Dean answered more frustrated than hostile, "I do have a life. This life. It has value. Maybe I didn't always want it but I do now and I wouldn't trade it for anything. You hearing me little brother?"

"As long as you get that I don't want it." Sam snapped back.

"Oh yah that's coming in loud and clear." Dean fired back all friendliness gone. "If you're going to turn bitchy on me, I'm going to a party and check out a babe named Rachelle who is not looking to bite my head off. Baby. Damn it I never told you about the baby."

Dean pulled up in front of Sam's dorm while Sam stared at him in horror. He put the Impala in park and turned to stare at his little brother.

"Are you breathing?" Dean asked.

"Oh my God Dean you have a baby? That's awful." Sam finely gasped.

"No I don't have a …. Wait, why would it be bad for me to have a kid?"

"Let's face it you're not the parent type." Sam said as if it was obvious.

"I raised you and I was only a kid then." Dean complained, "I think I could handle a baby now."

"Dean you ….?" Sam started to argue then thought about it.

"Me what?" Dean asked, "Who looked after you Sam, from potty training to telling you the facts of life? I'm not planning to have a kid but if there was ever a major change in my life, maybe …."

Who was it that taught him what? His father, when he was around, taught Sam how to fight, to shoot, and to do research. How to lie, steal and cheat. That hunting was the only way of life for a Winchester and obedience to dad's rule was the supreme virtue. No wait, when dad was hunting those lessons were delegated to Dean. Dean was the primary lying, stealing and cheating instructor as well as Sam's training partner and instructor more than half the time. Dean also taught him to read and write, and tie his shoes. To brush his teeth at least once a day and bath before bed time cause Dean didn't want to sleep with Sam's dirt. He taught Sam that it was alright to be scared as long as you didn't run away and how to play 'I'm somewhere else' to feel better. He taught Sam that being smart may make you a geek but strength without brains made you a dumb goon. That family was the center of the universe but caring about others made you a human-being. That pride and dignity had nothing to do with the cloths on your back or how much money was in your pocket. And finely that girls didn't have cooties and talking to them could lead to fun things. Who was it that taught Sam the important lessons in life?

"You were a good parent Dean." Sam admitted in earnest giving Dean the warmest smile he'd seen in a while, "But this baby isn't yours?"

"No I was there for the delivery, The mother went into labour right after I got rid of her psycho spirit brother. The spirit slashing wrists? It's something Sam seeing a kid being born, anyway they named the baby after me."

"Oh give me a break." Sam scoffed with a laugh.

"Swear to God." Dean said holding up two fingers in the boy scout salute. "The second half of this story is the spirit's dead mother showed up while I was trying to get rid of the kid and she helps. She tries to stop him from slashing me."

"You're loosing me." Sam stopped Dean, "I wish I had a beer." He moaned

Dean grinned, reached into the back and pulled out two bottles from his cooler. Sam accepted happily; of course Dean would be prepare, better than a boy scout. He took a long drink then nodded. Dean explained the whole story of David Locksley and how everything happened at the house with emphasis on Mrs. Locksley's part in the demise of David.

"Anyway when it was all over I had to take Karen to the hospital and did a little explaining about spirits along the way. Then the whole baby drama and after that I went back to the house and something really amazing happened."

"More amazing than a spirit helping you destroy her son or watching a baby being born?" Sam held up his hand so he could chugalug the last half of his beer, "Okay I'm ready but I warn you if your shitting me Dean I'll make you pay."

"The gospel truth." Dean promised and told him of his conversation with Mrs. L., leaving out the part were he was quoting a series that wouldn't be on the air for a few years, "I didn't really know what I was doing, just kind of guessing you know. She'd stayed for a reason so if she gave it up she could leave. Her face just relaxed, went peaceful, then this flash of white light and she was gone. You realize what this means, don't you?"

"Where would I begin?" Sam asked shaking his shaggy locks.

"The 'The supernatural is evil and we kill it.' theory is kind of out the window." Dean declared with a laugh.

"Theory, I thought it was a law." Sam grinned though he wasn't really amused.

"Ah, the Gospel according to John." Dean chuckled, "I don't know what I'm going to do about that. But it makes you wonder what's out there that we don't know about."

"Shit Dean that's amazing." Sam breathed in wonder, "Where was dad through all this?"

"Montana."

Sam's eyes widened as he squeaked, "What? You were alone on a job?"

"I'm twenty four dude." Dean almost said thirty one but if he counted the fourty years in hell he was actually seventy one.

"Yah, wait, just yesterday. I should have paid for dinner. Happy birthday Dean." Sam offered and when Dean acknowledged with a nod and smile Sam asked. "So what did dad say when you told him?"

"Catch me next time." Dean laughed pleased that Sam remembered his birthday and cared, "Dad thinks I'm still working the case. It's the only way I could get here. Do you think he knows I come? He'd have a fit. I'll get back to you though when I do tell him."

"God you sneak to see your own brother. Do you know how pathetic that is?" Sam grumbled. "Are you ever going to stand up to him."

"I'm pathetic, thanks Sam." Dean snapped, "He's my father and I'm going to take care of him just like I took care of you."

"He's a grown man he can take care of himself." Sam fired back overlooking the pathetic comment.

"Sam can we not fight?" Dean begged not liking the way that sounded but thinking 'I guess I didn't do it right'.

"Damn it Dean, think about it. He raises us like worriers then treats us like children." Sam began his anger at his father simmering to the surface again, "When we're grown men he won't let us make a single decision for ourselves yet when I told him I was afraid of the monster in my closet he gives me a gun."

'This sounds familiar' Dean thought, but pushed the 'dad the protector' with a twist, "I'm sure he did every thing he could to protect you, salt, wards, everything and just gave you a gun as added insurance in case the thing got through."

Sam stared at Dean in disbelief for a moment before sighing in exasperation, "Dean I was nine years old. Just a kid afraid of shadows like every other kid and he gives me a gun."

"You know damned well there are monsters hiding in the shadows and dad had no way of knowing it was just your imagination. He wasn't about to take any chances with the life of his son." Dean reasoned, sticking with his protector plan, not doubting the truth in those words. "Besides at that age I could shoot six cans off of fence posts with a revolver."

"That doesn't make it right. In fact it's damned wrong. A six year old kid should be playing baseball not doing small arms training." Sam snarled picking up steam, "How can you approve of him dragging us everywhere always on the road, no home, always strangers every where we went. I hold the record for number of schools attended. Remember the battle when I wanted to play soccer instead of going for cross bow training. Lying, cheating, and stealing and combat training, are all things decent parents teach there children are wrong but he shoved down our throats and never once gave a damn about what we wanted or needed.

"Alright that's it." Dean cried after clenching his jaw through Sam's entire rant.

They had this argument not even an hour ago and for all his truth and sincerity they were right back where they started. Though Dean sympathised with Sam on a few of the fine points he wasn't wholly right, either. Who was in these situations? For all his own anger directed at his father Dean understood what he was trying to do.

"Just because I don't hate the man and I'm not screaming in his face doesn't mean, I agree with everything he did." Dean barked back while fighting for self control, "I know you had a lousy childhood, so did I. You think it was easy shouldering all dads responsibilities so he could leave us to hunt. How do you think it feels trying to protect a kid when you're a kid nobody's protecting. I already know what a shitty father he was. But not everything he did was wrong and even when it was, sometimes it was for the right reasons. Can you try to understand that?"

There he said it out loud and it felt as terrible as he thought it would. Complaining about his childhood was a indulgence in Sam Dean found difficult to tolerate and was ashamed he had done so himself. It also made him feel like his every wound, was on public display, to be ogled like a road side accident. He felt childish, and more than a little selfish for caring. People would have died if he hadn't stepped up. Regardless of why his father did what he did, something good came of Dean's sacrifice over and above Sam being looked after by someone who loved him. Lives were saved and families preserved. Dean waited for Sam to say something but the college boy just stared with his chin on his chest. Dean reached over with his index finger and tapped the chin shut declaring 'Catch flies that way geek boy.' Still nothing. Dean was hoping for some sign of progress but after an hour of gut wrenching, soul bearing, Sam was staring at him like he had two heads. Sam gave himself a shake physically and mentally and found his voice.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Sam demanded.

"Any other time that might be funny, but not now." Dean complained, grabbed another beer and got out of the car.

Sam did likewise and joined Dean resting against the grill of the Impala but paused first to have a good look at his brother's face. It was so easy to forget how young Dean was, but then it had always been like that. At ten Dean was looking after Sam for days at a time and at twelve it wasn't unusual for John to be gone for weeks. By the time Dean was sixteen Sam wondered why his dad came back at all. He eventually figured out that John wanted his soldiers fighting for the cause and Dean was one hell of a soldier. At no time did it appear to Sam that Dean wasn't completely content with his role. He never talked, he never went in for the cosy get to know you scene. He considered it girly. Definitely not for the mighty warrior. But this mighty warrior was young and he was hiding behind a game face.

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam took the direct approach, "Some of the things you said tonight I would never have believed… Like dad's not your hero and sometimes he's a jackass and he was a lousy father. It's just not you."

"I never said he isn't my hero, but I'm not blind to his faults. He's a fallible human being who got a shitty deal." was all Dean would say, "But you know Sam, I keep my cards pretty close to the vest too. It's not your fault you don't know going on with me."

"You said you became that way to survive." Sam brought up something mentioned earlier on. "What did you mean? What am I missing here."

Dean had reached his limit and sent what was left of his beer flying into a wall to illustrate the point. He did everything the oracle had said and it wasn't enough. Would it ever be enough or was he doomed to bleed dry for his family until Lucifer walks. Lucifer, that was why he was here. To keep Lucifer in his cage. He had to remember that. He also had to remember he had seven years to do it in. Dean stopped his rise of anger and panic. This was just the first of many nights here and Sam didn't seem in a hurry to tell him to not come back.

"I can't do this any more." Dean tried to close the door.

"Please if you don't give me something I'll start using my imagination and that won't be good." Sam begged.

"It's like a tactic Sam." Dean sought a way to explain that wouldn't be a lie but wouldn't leave him bloody at his little brother's feet. Damn it he had his pride. "I couldn't let the people know what I was thinking. I had to lie to everyone, teachers, even the ones I liked, friends if I made, any girls I was seeing, hell the manager of the motel, everyone. Lying and bluffing became a way of life for me. Sometimes it was safer to keep dad at a distance cause there were things he wouldn't have been happy to hear about and I just didn't need the grief. Does that satisfy you Sam? Can we quit now cause I really can't do this anymore. I came here to get us back on track, whatever it took, and all this sharing and caring crap seems to do is go in circles. I shouldn't do this bare your soul shit. I'm no good at it. I feel rung out and dirty and all for nothing."

"I wouldn't say that." Sam countered appreciating how much he meant to his brother, "I'm glad I had this peek inside the enigma that is Dean. You're a lot more complicated than I thought."

"Your welcome, glad this worked for you, now the Hallmark event is officially over. So Sammy what do you say to a holiday this summer." Dean brought the moment to an end before it became diabetic inducing, "I'm going to do all the pool hustling and card playing I can and put together a wad so you can afford to take a couple of weeks off."

"Where?" Sam asked taken completely by surprise.

"I don't know, Grand Canyon? All the times I've crisscrossed this country I've never seen the grand canyon. Or we could go south. Mexico maybe, to some beach and bikini place. Totally monster free." He said with a big grin, that vanished a moment later, "I hope."

"There would be a monster once you got there." Sam grinned. "Sounds nice but what will you tell dad."

"That I have to get away from him because he's driving me nuts." Dean answered and Sam could see he was dead serious.

"You'd do that and he'd let you get away with it?" Sam asked wide eyed.

"Hell no. He'd totally freak, but I'll do it anyway." Dean laughed, "So, what do you say?"

"I say I hope you can play enough pool so I can afford to take part of the summer off." Sam didn't think for a minute Dean would.

They were always broke, living on fraudulent credit cards and stealing when they had to. But a little part of him wished his big brother could. After all the revelations tonight a holiday with Dean sounded like an adventure in the twilight zone, without monsters. However, it just wasn't possible to hustle that much money on top of what they needed and hide it all from dad. But there was no way on earth he would say that. Not after the lengths Dean went to try and mend their relationship.

"You don't think I can do this or you'd be humming and hawing and I'd have to talk you into it." Dean called it right on the money, "Little brother has no faith in my hustling skills. Well I'm just going to have to prove you wrong and you'll be stuck with that yes, like it or not." he finished with a laugh.

"You're insufferable you know that." Sam growled.

"But handsome and charming." Dean chuckled. "So a few weeks this summer some travel."

"So we're okay? All the yelling and being mad is over?" Sam asked.

Dean looked into Sam's sad brown eyes. He was getting the puppy eye treatment. The deadliest attack Sam had. The assault for which Dean had no defence.

"What?" Dean cried, "You want a hug or something?" Dean could see a hint of a pout in Sam's face and cracked under torture. "Your killing me." He complained as he reached out and embraced his little brother. He might have kicked Sam in the butt if he'd seen the self satisfied grin on his face at that moment.

"You take care of yourself Sammy." Dean said smiling in spite of his discomfort, "You need anything, you have any trouble call me. Anytime night or day."

* * *

Dean's other visits left Sam feeling angry indignant even a little hurt but entirely righteous. Sam wouldn't say he lost that since of righteous purity but an uneasiness came over him as he wondered just how squeaky clean he was. All past attempts at an evening with his brother ended with fights. Sam was never sure why they fought or even how they got on the subject but he didn't feel he had anything to apologize for. This visit left him with an entirely different flavour in his mouth and he wasn't sure how well he liked it. Dean had called him a narrow minded, self-righteous, egocentric, bigot. Sam had no idea Dean had such a negative opinion of him and would have liked to argue the point, but he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to maintain a relationship with Dean. Dean was the past, the world of hunting. Something Sam didn't want to go anywhere near. He'd like to just cut himself off and had thought about it a lot after that last visit. But this peak at a side of Dean he'd never seen before sparked his curiosity. There was also the point that Sam didn't feel clean anymore and that he couldn't ignore even if he wanted to.

Chad Crenshaw his room mate greeted Sam with a big happy 'hey' when he entered their room. He was a little startled to see Sam back so early and immediately asked why but Sam had fine tuned his avoidance skills with his room mate, muttered something generic, and tried to settle in with some studies. Chad could be annoyingly chatty at times and tonight was one of those times. When Sam proved unwilling to give him the details of his outing with his brother, Chad proceeded to fill him in on all the campus gossip. Sam couldn't have been less interested, until Chad mentioned a dog party at the ABP's Sorority house.

"A dog party?" Sam couldn't have heard right, girls don't invite Dean to dog party's. "Isn't that where you invite the ugliest dork you can find?"

"With the Alpha Beta Pi's and the Kappa Pi Nu's it's all about class. They invited working class bums. The more cruddy, the macho jerk they can get, the better. The KPN's are due to show up any time now. So glad I'm not one of the poor bastards. Those KPN's are arrogant…Sam, Sam?"

Driving was the long way around, sprinting across the campus …, Sam didn't have a hope in Hell of cutting Dean off. He was already at the party and the only question was, what would he do once he realized what was going on. Hit a girl? No not Dean, but if their fraternity brothers were there it could get ugly. _No Dean, do not get yourself arrested. Not here. This is my world. Don't screw it up for me._ There was Dean's beloved Impala along with a dozen other classic, muscle cars and a scattering of pick up trucks, parked in front of the sorority house but no sign of the police. So far so good. Sam charged up the steps and threw open the doors to run right into a small number of young men in worn jeans and T shirts heading out. While trying to catch his breath Sam rushed past them looking for Dean silently pleading for him to be as smart as those leaving but doubting it. Sam followed the steady stream of departing men to where the party was. There was a large entrance to a sunken main room filled with designer dressed young men and women and a few stragglers in worn jeans . There was a small crowd, probably the majority of the invited 'dogs' standing at the entrance. To Sam's amazement Dean, with the help of a couple of other level headed guys, was standing on the bottom step urging the few remaining "dogs" to hurry. It took some restraining and struggling with a few shorter tempered ones as they were being laughed at and bated by the college students. 'You'll get charged dude, it's not worth it.' Dean and the other two cautioned the hot heads.

"Are we really that intimidating?" a finely dressed young men called.

"You're that offensive." Dean replied.

"I would think you would want to enjoy the company of a real woman for as long as you could."

"These plastic wonders?" Dean chuckled, "When I want to hang with Malabo Barbie I'll pick one up at Toys R Us."

"Dean. don't!" Sam commanded grabbing Dean's jacket, then addressed the assembled in the main room, "He didn't mean it, we're sor…."

Before Sam could finish Dean had him by the jacket and shoved him into the gathering of dogs further up the steps but kept his face turned to the main room, "This bitch doesn't speak for me. I meant every word I said. I doubt any one of you has the slightest idea of what a real man or woman is."

The frat brother halted Dean's exit calling, "Violence, that's what you measure your manhood by? Is it the only thing you're good at?"

Sam saw Dean's sudden intake of breath, "Ignore him Dean. Let's just get the Hell out of here." he pleaded grabbing Dean's arm.

"Actually, I am very good at violence." Dean paused his exit to call over his shoulder, smiling, "It's necessary in my line of work. I'm also licensed to carry a concealed weapon. Now if I was the ignorant brainless goon, you think I am you'd probably have a hole right between your eyes by now wouldn't you?" Dean's smile vanished, "Wouldn't you? Are you too stupid to realize that pocking at people who have to fight to survive is a good way to get stomped on?"

Dean finished his speech then his smug smile jumped into place. The jean set had started chuckling over the Barbie jab and never quit. It turned to laughter as they again began their exodus much happier than before.

"Tell me what kind of job involves such a daily battle? Bouncer in some seedy pool hall?" the frat boy asked with a mocking laugh.

"I'm a bounty hunter." Dean called over his shoulder.

"Bull." a voice called from the crowd.

"Idiots." Dean called back sounding bored and tired.

One of the mocking frat boys threw off his blazer and took several steps toward Dean drawing oohs and ahs from the college crowd. Dean looked on with mild distress. It was just what he needed and in front of Sam no less.

"Lets see what this bounty hunter can do against a state karate champion." the frat boy laughed, "Come on bigmouth show me what you've got."

Dean had little doubt if he broke this guys nose he'd probably call the cops. Not good. Not only would Sam be pissed but so would dad and he'd catch Dean in his lie. He didn't need that. He took one step down and pulled his jacket back displaying his pearl handled 45. He lifted it pulling it slightly way from his belt making sure the frat boy got a good look.

"This is what I got." Dean smirked, "Fighting may be a sport to you but it's survival to me. You think I'm going to challenge Robert Fisher, a guy who murdered his wife and children to a fair fight or maybe Michael Alfonse a serial rapist, and murder. How about Richard Goldberg, a guy who rapes little children. Yah, I'm going to give him a fighting chance. Right. You go play like a good little boy and I'll do a man's work."

"Dean, stop it." Sam barked.

He ran to Dean and grabbed his arm just as Dean began his speech. Dean had no intention of threatening anyone having withdrawn his arm to put the weapon away. He was making a point putting on a little show but Sam's interference ruined the effect making it look like Sam had made him put the pistol away. That was it, Sam was getting an ass kicking. Dean shook Sam off his arm pushing him to the stairs glaring at him with all the resentment he felt at the time.

"Hey muscle head." the frat boy called.

As Dean turned to face him the side of the college boy's tennis shoe caught the side of his head. It was quite a blow but it only stunned Dean for a moment. The cocky society boy was foolish enough to take a minute to gloat, laughed, then, moved in for a double kick then punch combo which Dean easily blocked. One kick from Dean was all it took. They didn't kick in the groin in tournaments. There is a specific spot behind the testicles that if hit just right had a very special effect. Frat boy dropped to his knees gasping, not only from the pain but a major cramp hit his large intestine.

"You really, are a dumb bitch." Dean announced with his trademark smirk, "I don't fight fair, I fight to win. Somebody get this guy some clean shorts." He finished waving his hand in front of his nose.

The laughter that resulted among the working boys was riotous. They clapped each other on the back and cheered Dean as he trotted out the door in victory. They left in groups, all calling out names of bars where they headed, inviting Dean to join them. He replied he'd see what he was up to after he had a chat with his little brother. Dean waited refusing to look at Sam until they were alone. Dean's easy manner vanished as he grabbed Sam by the jacket and shoved him into the car. Tires squealed as Dean sped away from the sorority house like something was after him.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"Protecting myself." Sam snapped back though a little startled by the rough treatment, "I can't have you getting in trouble here, shooting somebody, especially some one connected. I could loose my scholarship and no college would take my. Then I'd have to bail you out just so you could skip bail and wind up on the ten most wanted."

"Do you really think I was going to shoot him, Sammy?" Dean snarled.

"Normal people don't pack." Sam counted.

"Don't give me your normal crap." Dean hissed, "Lot's of people carry guns including bounty hunters. Damn it Sam you were so out of line. You apologised for me to a bunch of society brats. Don't ever do that again or I swear to God I'll put you in the hospital. I hunt and kill so assholes like that don't get eaten, or killed by spirits. That's not ignorant bar brawling goon shit, that's noble! I'm fucking noble Sam and I deserve your respect. I don't give a shit about them but you treated me like a dumb goon. If you can't respect me cause I save lives you should do it because I'm the guy that raised you."

"Dean you pulled a gun on an unarmed human being." Sam insisted every bit as angry as Dean.

"I showed it to him. I barely pulled it out of my belt. Just enough so he could see it." Dean snarled back, "I was proving I was armed and hoped he'd be smart enough to back off, but you jumped in and made me look like a dumb goon. You humiliated me more than those college dicks."

"We don't solve problems with violence here Dean." Sam shouted back red faced with anger.

Dean came to a screeching halt in front of Sam's dorm, reached out and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Listen to me!" He roared.

"I am!" Sam roared back.

"No you're not. You're wallowing in self-righteous indignation, totally absorbed in all the reasons why you're right. Now listen!" Dean paused and waited for Sam to look at him and held eye contact refusing to let Sam look away.

After insults like that Sam's gut reaction was to shut down and ignore every word out of Dean's mouth but as that was exactly what Dean was accusing him of, he couldn't. Sam gave himself an internal shake trying to free himself from the shroud of indignation that so consumed his his mind at the moment. He forced himself to look at his brother, acknowledge him. He would hear every word and consider what he was saying if for not other reason than to prove Dean wrong.

"Those son's of bitches brought us there to laugh at me, make fun of me, and I tried to leave without kicking ass." Dean began, when Sam finely focused on him. He spoke slowly, quietly, hoping Sam would listen but, when in a temper, listening wasn't something either his father or brother were very good at. "They were taking cheep shots at me and I was giving back as good as I was getting. No better. Then you came along and totally humiliated me with your arrogant presumptions and your condescension.

"I tried to tell that bitch fighting wasn't a game but he swung on me when I was walking away and got what he deserved. He was the one acting like a dumb goon and I was acting like an intelligent civilized person. If you can't see that Sam than you have a serious perception problem and need to rethink your values."

Every lawyer needed the ability to instantly launch a counter attack in order to support their position. A number of friends and professors had complemented him on his natural raw skill, (years of fighting with his dad had benefits) and suggested he develop it by joining a debating club. Seeing how others presented their arguments in a calm civilized fashion, without resorting to 'because I said so' or because I'm older than you' was a revelation and a joy to Sam. Sam fought the impulse to launch a counter argument as anyone schooled in debating would. This wasn't about winning it was about right and wrong. Considering the possibility that he was wrong when dealing with his father or brother was novel, and uncomfortable, but Sam was determined to man up.

When Sam grew out of his hero worship phase he still looked up to his big brother. Even when he was angry with Dean for not siding with him against their father Sam still believed in his big brother. Dean was the one who looked out for him, made sure he had everything he needed and above all kept the monsters on the other side of the door. There was no one as strong or courageous as Dean and Sam was proud of that. Leaving his father was easy, leaving Dean was hard. It wasn't until he came to college that Sam realized just how ill educated, ill-mannered and uncouth Dean really was. Associating with people who could settle disagreements without bellowing or throwing punches was wondrous. Having conversations with people that weren't about the supernatural, violence or mangled body parts was an emotional and intellectual thrill. Being surrounded by people who laughed and enjoyed the world around them was bliss. The life Sam now lived was so precious to him, he would defend it against any threat no matter how small and perhaps a little to enthusiastically. But he was defending the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. Dean wasn't a violent goon, he was just uncouth.

In all fairness to Dean it wasn't his fault. No one ever taught him how to socialise in a quiet, intellectual non aggressive manner. No one even taught him table manners. Sam did toy with the idea of having Dean near by, …. Say in community college in San Jose. The two worlds he lived in need never collide. Like they did tonight. But Dean was right about tonight. Dean was the one being victimised by obnoxious bullies and he had shown his brother no respect. What was it he'd said 'That's not ignorant bar brawling goon shit that's noble. I'm fucking noble Sam and I deserve your respect.' For all his vulgar ways that so irritated Sam, when he stopped and thought about what happened it was impossible to avoid the fact that his big brother had a valid point.

After a long painful silence Sam nodded, "You're right, I did over react." he said shocking Dean, "I'm sorry Dean I shouldn't have acted like that."

"You're right you shouldn't have." Dean didn't give in, "You know Sam it's one thing to want to go to college. I understand that and it's okay. But it's another thing to sacrifice your brother's dignity to kiss up to a bunch of society dicks."

"No I don't even like those jerks. I just didn't want you getting into trouble." Sam insisted, "I admit it I was reacting without thinking. I'm sorry."

Sure Dean was telling the truth courageously but there were some truths that should lay silent between them. Spoken aloud the became messy, awkward and impossible to ignore. They would become an obstacle to the close trusting relationship Dean was trying to rebuild the and above all the respect that was supposed to be Sam's salvation. He new it wouldn't be easy with Sam's ego but he began to realise just how hard it was going to be.

"Dean .." Sam stumbled as he began to realise just how insensitive he'd been, "I don't .."

"Don't Sammy it's alright." Dean didn't want to hear it, "Can we just forget it."

"Okay, take care of yourself big brother." Sam tried to smile as he climbed out of the Impala but he couldn't walk away.

Sam would not let things end like this so before Dean could put the car in gear Sam parked himself on the grill and waited for Dean to join him.

So close to a clean get away but then Sam never did know how to leave well enough alone. There he stood like a dog with a bone refusing to give it up. 'This is going to hurt' Dean groaned as he forced himself out of the car and parked his butt on the grill. He crossed his arms and stared straight ahead cold and aloof. There was no way he was making this easy for Sam.

"So get this over with." He grumbled.

"Dean." Sam sighed, "Do you remember what you used to say to me the first day of every school we started? "Never apologise for who or what you are. No matter what anybody says you know how smart and tough you are so demand respect." It sort of became my mantra. You taught me to believe in myself. Dean I got here because of you. I just wanted you to know that."

"Thanks Sammy, I appreciate that." Dean fumbled perplexed, "But now I'm totally confused, cause you're not hiding the fact that you'd rather not see my face around here."

If there was ever any doubt about Dean being a well trained dog, (that Sam had accused him of being more than once when screaming at his father) it was now officially destroyed. You couldn't send him off with his tail wagging happily with a mere pat him on the head.

"It's not that I don't want to see you." San half lied with a great deal of hesitation, "It's that you're part of a life I'm trying to escape. Every time I see you I keep waiting for you to start riding me to come back. It's like I'm waiting for you to hit me with something and man it's so unbearable it ruins all the time we spend together."

Dean hadn't been stupid enough to attempt that when he really was twenty four. Yes he wanted the family together. Yes he'd missed his brother and wanted him in the car on the road with him and in some respects still did. But even then there was nothing ambivalent about Sam's feelings and as thick headed as he may have been he knew better than to even ask. Now he had every reason to not ask. Dean reached into the back for the last couple of beer and invited Sam to join him.

"Dude the last thing I want is you back with dad and me." Dean said his expression completely serious. "You and dad would be at each others throats within twenty-four hours. I'd love to have you riding with me, hunting with me, I would Sam, but with you and dad fighting we'd all end up miserable. You do whatever you have to, we'll do what we have to and we'll join up some where down the road."

Sam heaved a big happy sigh and grabbed Dean in a bear hug.

"Thanks man. Having you in my corner means a lot to me." Sam, moved by the show of support, gushed, "You know this friend of mine, Brady says his greatest asset is a family he can run to if he needs to. I just want you to know I know how lucky I am too."

Brady, now there was a name to chill the heart. When was it that Brady would introduce Sam to Jessica? Spring? Yes, Dean remembered, Sam saying he fell in love with Jessica on a trip to Mexico during spring break then they moved in together for the fall semester and that they'd been a couple for two years. Dean did the math and realized Brady would be setting Sam up any time now. So much for Dean's seven year window of opportunity. There was no time for the soft sell if he was going to save Sam from the pivotal event that started him down the dark road. The horror of watching Jessica burn.

"Yah Sammy, I'm in your corner." Dean gave him a hug and a pat on the back, then took his little brother by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes, "Now I'm going to tell you something you don't want to hear. Your buddy Brady is going to introduce you to a pretty blond named Jessica Moore. You stay away from the girl. For her sake Sammy, don't go near her."

Sam's happy goofy smile turned into confusion, fear and a little anger. He stepped back pushing Dean away and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"What is this Dean, what are you trying to pull." Sam demanded.

"The supernatural world isn't going to just disappear cause you want out?" Dean said a sad smile on his face, "You're not out of it. You're not safe here and neither is anyone you're involved with. You don't believe me. I know that but pay attention. It begins with Brady introducing you to a gorgeous blond with big eyes and a beautiful smile, named Jessica Moore. It's a trap that will get her killed. Don't bury your head in the sand cause you want normal so bad. If you don't listen to me that girl will die and you will have to live with it the rest of your life."

"You're such a jerk!" Sam roared, "Why can't you just let me be happy?"

"I wish you could be happy Sammy." Dean answered with such emotion it sounded like a cry, "I wish you could live your nice safe life, you know, marry Jessica, be a lawyer, and have two and a half kids. God I'd be so happy for you, but that's not going to happen. Whatever we're caught up in started thirty years ago and we're going to have to deal with it. Maybe then, when it's over you can have your normal, but not yet."

"NOT ME!" Sam roared, "That's your world not mine, not any more. Never again."

"It's not MY world it's THE world." Dean yelled back, "The supernatural is part of everyone's world. That's why people get eaten or killed by spirits. Start reading the paper dude, start looking around and soon before a friend winds up with their heart ripped out of their chest or turns up nothing but chewed on bones."

As Dean spoke Sam huffed and puffed constantly looking away. He was not listening. It seem all Dean achieved was to ruin all the head way he made in mending his relationship. Sam would need proof and Dean would give it to him before it was to late. But first he needed Sam listening. A slap across Sam's face got his attention. Sam's eyes locked with Dean's, glaring with all the rage he usually reserved for their father.

"Stop standing there all rapped up in how I'm trying to screw with your life and pay attention!" Dean persisted, "This is going to happen before March. Your buddy Brady will introduce you to a girl who's everything you ever wanted. Then he will start ruining his life, partying, booze, drugs whatever. A total personality change. This will happen!"

Dean climbed into the car leaving an infuriated Sam pacing on the side walk. He had a belly full of bile churning and choking him when he left the party. Leaving Sam with a hug and a smile would have gone a long way to easing his nausea but that wouldn't have helped save his brother.

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**If you're a first time reader please know that as of 07/12/2011. I have reread, corrected and hopefully improved this story up to this point. I will begin work on the next chapter in a day or two.**

**Whether first time or rereading please review and let me know what you think. One comment I received was the chapters are too long. Do you agree?**


	4. Chapter 4 On The Road Again

**Sam and Dean still don't belong to me, they're just on lone.**

**As long time readers know I've been struggling with the math since I began publishing (I at first, thought the series aired in 2004 as that had been in a Supernatural fanfiction, website. I finely have it figured out and now realize in my story Dean returns to the middle of Sam's second year in Stanford.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**ON THE ROAD AGAIN**

Sam wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He wanted to punch holes in walls. But most of all he wanted to beat the shit out of his brother. Dean suckered him in with his heart felt talk of mending fences and wishing him well with his new life. It was all bullshit. He was just setting Sam up for the big scare. Did he really think Sam was stupid enough to fall for a scam like that? Sam started helping Dean run scams on people when he was eight years old. He would shuffle his feet and look forlorn while Dean spun a story about a sick mother or a father with a broken foot. The best scam Dean came up with was claiming he was collecting money to put up posters to find a missing sister. Dean never did say where he got the picture of the six year old girl but it always broke peoples hearts. Within a matter of hours they would have a pocket full of bills. Dean, the scam artist, never changes.

Sam caught himself before slamming the door and waking his roommate. He was even less interested in explaining his foul mood than he had been when he first came back. Sam had to do something to calm down before he put his fist threw a wall so he sat at his desk to study. There in the right hand corner of his desk sat his agenda. Marked on Sunday January 26th , was brunch with Jessica and her phone number. Sam's heart became stuck in his throat and the pen in his hand began to shake.

"No." He whispered.

Dad and Dean were spying on him. They already new about Brady and Jessica. But how would they know Brady introduced them? He snorted at the question. Those two could discover anything about anyone. They're getting even for his leaving. They're trying make him come running back in fear and there was no way Sam was going to let them do that. Damn Dean and all his bullshit, making him feel bad, feel guilty, when he was just setting him up for this.

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Dean didn't wait until morning to hit the road. He wanted as much space between himself and the dog party as he could get. Dean had spent his life on the bottom rung of society and for the most part never let it bother him._ For the most part._ There were times when he was reminded of where he came from, in a cruel and painful fashion. When a girl couldn't date him because her parents wouldn't approve or when he couldn't go to someone's party because he lived on the wrong side of town. If Dean had ever been tempted to forget his place in society, a small town sheriff made an indelible impression on him. Sheriff Rutherford happened upon his daughter and Dean having a hamburger at a drive in. After dragging the girl crying and protesting out of the car, the sheriff slammed Dean's face onto the trunk crushing his cheek and knocking out two teeth while informing him he had no rights. By the time 'uncle' Bobby got to town two days later Dean was badly beaten by inmates he was sharing a cell with. At seven-teen he should not have been housed with the adult prisoners. Bobby's talk of lawyers and lawsuits resulted in a quick release and none to soon. Dean didn't know how much longer he would have been able to hold out against the demands for entertainment from his cell mates. His place in the world was now permanently embedded in his mind. John expressed his disappointment in Dean's failure to stay out of trouble making a point of how Sam was alone for several days and children's services could have been called. The fact that he hadn't been doing anything wrong when he was arrested was irrelevant. He spoke only a few brisk words but only a few were needed to cut another slice out of Dean's shrinking self that day Dean felt like a looser in every sense of the word.

Women had always been Dean's refuge. If he ever wanted to feel wanted, needed, appreciated, he could always turn to a woman. They looked at him with want and desire. They saw him in a way he never say himself. For the first time a woman looked at him as something laughable. Dean just didn't know how he was going to handle that. What refuge could he turn to know?

Driven by anger at the sorority and fraternity for doing it, at Sam for his reaction, and himself for being played in the first place, Dean hit the I 101 to San Jose at eighty miles an hour. He kept going despite the late hour, stopping just short of San Bernardino before looking for a motel for the night. He would have kept going, it was only seven hours to Casa Grande, but he'd been drinking and his eyes were starting to close. Dean just wasn't that stupid. He pulled into a road side motel and with the help of mickey of scotch he escaped into slumber then awoke with a foul taste in his mouth. It was not the aftermath of a drunk but the previous days events haunting him. He swallowed hard as he always did and set out.

Dean had hoped for any easier job than Berkley and found it. The first book 'Nindanu Malturu Quradu' was not in Casa Grande itself but a the ruins north of the city in The Casa Grande Ruins National Monument hidden in a hohokam. By day he looked for the spot he saw in his minds eye, an image put there by Castiel, and returned when the minimal security was a breeze to get past. He quickly found the section of wall, moved it away and paused. Dean hadn't expected that. Was it a short sword or a dagger? It was more of a short sword at least fifteen inches long, silver inlayed and bejewelled. Magnificent, but was it a man made weapon or more? The book would tell or he hoped it would. The book was reminiscent of an over large Oxford dictionary or thick atlas with all the bells and whistles, written on parchment and heavy as hell. It was in incredibly good condition not a page torn but filled with a strange writhing, using an alphabet Dean didn't even recognize as an alphabet. The illustrations were odd, functional rather than picturesque but they had an artistic flare to be admired all the same.

As he looked at the book he could hear Castiel's voice whisper bless yourself with the rosary and read. After listening to the statement repeat several times Dean finely obeyed. He kissed the rosary's cross and drew the beads from his forehead to his chest then shoulder to shoulder as he recited the traditional pleasing in Latin, "Nominis pater atque filius et spiritus sanctus Amen." The words on the first page were suddenly perfectly clear.

_**It is the duty of all chosen to seek within themselves the gifts granted onto them for no one can tell them what those are. Each is blessed, some are shared, some are unique. That which you find are to be used to serve man and god. As you do you will find more, for those who cherish and put to good use will be rewarded with even greater gifts. So it is, as you train your bodies and your minds for the task before you, you will find the more you do the more you will be able to do. In time you will become a great warrior in a mighty army that will strike fear into the heart of all evil.**_

From there on it was an instruction manual on developing the mind and body. Some of the physical training was out dated and at times pretty funny but Dean had only skimmed through it. He wondered what had become of that army and if it was possible to raise a new one. No, not likely in this day an age. The kind of faith and conviction it would take for people to commit to building a compound and under go such training to become an army could grow into a dangerous cult. The wrong kind of person would be attracted to it possibly ending with a battle for control. No that was the end of any thoughts of that nature. Besides it would be hard to be taken seriously when your training manual is written in Akkadian using the early Phoenician alphabet. Not only could he read what he was looking at but new what it was. Dean packed up his new treasure and again put distance between himself and a town traveling east toward New Orleans.

Dean was now as far from his father as he could get and a little worried about how he was going to explain it to John. He new the job his father was on and would expect to be finished in another three days, thank God it was a tough one but it wouldn't be enough time for Dean to get all three books. It was three days hard driving to New Orleans then over a thousand to Greenfield Massachusetts. Five days driving plus two days at each place minimum. Not a hope in hell unless he could come up with something good. Dean continued eastward watching the sun rise and fall paying little attention to the scenery. He'd seen it all before and there were to many pressing matters keeping him from appreciating the view. As the sun set on another day he began to look for another cheep bed. Dean looked up at the sky and it's twinkling stars laughing merrily at the earth.

"What are you so happy about?" He groused. "We got a crises going on down here."

He found a Number 8 with a diner, a quick burger and fries would do but still nothing was coming to him. Dean felt like he was stuck on a train track with a diesel coming at him full throttle. As if to drive his desperation to knew heights the phone rang.

"Hello." Dean choked his voice horse and throaty.

"What's the matter with you." John asked, "You sound like hell."

Dean waited a minute a smile coming to his face. He wasn't sure of who to thank for this moment of inspiration and didn't care.

"Don't know." Dean kept his voice raspy, "Just a little temperature, can't eat, but I'll get over it. Probably just a cold."

"When you can't eat I know it's serious." John sighed, "Stay quiet, fluids and go to a clinic if you have to. I'll call you in three or five."

Dean kept smiling. Three or five wouldn't be enough but he was sure he could Google something that would not only keep him out of commission for ten days or more but keep his father from coming anywhere near him. It wasn't a bad bed almost comfy. Dean touched the knife under his pillow closed his eyes and went to sleep.

New Orleans was much harder than Berkley. At the university he was just dealing with alarms security guards and windows. The book of shadows was in the possession of a Voodoo priest. Once again the rosary of Ste. Louis Marie came in handy. Dean discovered purely by accident that he could learn a language by listening to it after blessing himself with the rosary. When using it to read a French paper at a café he found he could also understand a conversation in Jamaican at the next table. It made sense that the rosary of a saint renowned for be able to understand people and make them understand him would possess such a gift.

The following day he went for a stroll in a part of town largely populated by immigrants from Jamaica, the Caribbean and parts of south America and Africa, or locals with similar history. With rosary in hand he listened and blessed himself every time he encountered a language he didn't understand. It was amazing what people said in front of others when they thought they weren't understood. Everyone thought they could sell the pretty white boy just about anything. A lot of them tried to sell him cheep Taiwan statues claiming they were fertility god's. Dean would just stare at them asking which one and some of their answers were just plain funny. His laughter elicited a few nasty remarks in a language or two he wasn't supposed to know and he was waiting for a mugging he shouldn't have been prepared for after telling one seller that 'wood nymphs aren't fertility gods even if they are lusty'.

It took him only a day of walking and sitting in café's until he found one of the voodoo priests primary henchman. He followed him for the remainder of the day and most of the night until he located the priest's temple. Breaking into a voodoo temple wasn't like breaking into Berkeley. They had an entirely different variety of security system. If you're caught stealing from a college campus the students eating you alive is a figure of speech some times used, but if you're caught stealing from a voodoo priest it can be literal.

Dean had rock salt, holy water, and stakes for zombies. As prepared as he was Dean had not illusions about how easy this was going to be. If he got out of this without a scratch he was going to buy a lottery ticket. As he loitered outside the rundown building waiting for the sounds to hit the role and tempo he preferred a middle aged man appeared in front of him. He had the pasty complexion, the dark sunken eyes, and all the right moves. He had a story to tell but Dean kept his hand on his sawed off just in case. The priest had dispatched, Mr. Steven Wienright who came looking for his missing son. Steve found his son but still refused to leave. He didn't give any details as to why and Dean was in too much of a hurry to ask. He wanted to know about the temple. With a breakdown of the obstacles from Steve, Dean found it that much easier to get to the book. He slipped the book into the satchel and preformed a blessing on the alter destroying the priests power then turned to leave. The job was done as far as he was concerned but when the mourning spirit realized the young hunter wasn't going to kill the voodoo priest he raised hell throwing furniture around forcing Dean to shoot his way out putting down zombies and henchmen along the way. Steve followed Dean to the payphone several blocks away and asked what he should do now.

"How are you getting out here?" Dean demanded, "Why aren't you tethered to the place you died or to where your body is?"

Steve pointed to a dark smudge on a wall and answered. "That's my blood over there and my skull is in that temple. My son was one of the zombies you staked."

"Great! Bringing those guys down on me was about revenge for you and your son." Dean snapped guarding himself against undue compassion, "How do you think my father would feel driving a stake threw me."

"But you handled it great?" Steve protested.

"What do you think this is, the movies? Do I look like Steven Segal to you. Half a dozen guys came down those stairs plus zombies." Dean growled at him, "Two or three or even four on one is talent, six to one plus zombies is luck. Damn it I've got a bullet in my arm and my bad leg's been gazed. Is your revenge more important than my life?"

Steve dropped to the pavement of the dirty back ally they were huddled in. They were no more than half a dozen blocks from the temple and people were scurrying all over the place. Dean's greatest fear at this point was the spirit would kick up a fuss if he tried to leave yet he had to get out of there to a payphone before he was spotted. Dean never loved spirits but Mrs. Locksley had improved his attitude considerably. Steve was chipping away at Dean's new found regard.

Steve slowly shook his head shrouded in guilt and shame stammering, "I didn't realize. I just wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry."

"Okay, I'm over it." Dean muttered after a brief uncomfortable silence, "Look I've got to get out of here and you need to move on."

"To where?"

"Do you believe in God, Steve?" Dean began his pitch.

"Yes, of course I do."

"So you want to join you son. In heaven I mean? You figure he's in heaven right?" Dean offered as an incentive.

Steve smiled, "Ricky was full of live. He saw the future like it was a grand adventure. So good natured too. He'd tease his sisters but he would do anything for them. He brought them presents from Stanford every visit home. Hardly a cross word for anyone."

"I get the idea." Dean called a halt to the proud papa speech, "He didn't come here to join a Voodoo cult."

"He was here doing a paper." Steve snapped

"So now you move on, join him." Dean urged, "Just relax and let it happen."

Steve closed his eyes and tried to relax but another thought came to him.

"What about my wife and daughters?" He gasped jumping to his feet. "The don't know what's happen to us. What do I do about them."

"What can you do for them?" Dean asked, "You're a spirit, a ghost. Your body's in there or your skull is?"

"Yes my skull and a few other bones are, the rest of me was burned."

"The police will be crawling all over the place as soon as I call. Your family will know what happened and they'll get the insurance. That's all you can do now." Dean offered sympathetically "Now relax, shake off the baggage and catch a moon beam out of here. Ricky's waiting for you."

Steve took a few steps away and stared up at the stares. Dean couldn't see his face but he saw the shoulders relax and heard a sigh. In a flash of light Steve was gone. Dean muttered his thanks and ran for a payphone before jumping into the Impala several blocks further away.

Safe in his motel room Dean looked down at the thin black leather gloves he'd begun to ware as a further effort to keep off the FBI's ten most wanted list. Blood stains. He salted and burned them in the sink and resolved to pick up several pair the next time he stopped. The graze on his left leg took only a couple of stitches but digging a bullet out of ones arm using a mirror was a bitch. He had to bite on a towel to keep from screaming as he dug at flesh instead of the bullet. An agonizing hour later dean put the first aid supplies away.

"Thanks a bunch Steve." He muttered.

Rick Wienright, why was that name so familiar. He was a student at Stanford, was it possible? It could be a powerful tool in helping Sam pull his head out of the sand. Knowing there was a good chance Sam wouldn't answer if he saw Dean's number on the caller display Dean picked up the motel phone and made a call.

"Rick Wienright, do you know him?" The gravely voice asked.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, he didn't recognise the phone number and for a moment he didn't recognise the voice, "Wait, Dean is that you?"

"Rick Wienright, he'd a Stanford student who's been missing over a month." Dean pushed on, "Do you know him or of him?"

"You have a lot of nerve calling me." Sam snarled after a moment of silence.

"Get off your sanctimonious high horse for a minute and think." Dean pushed a little harder, "Rick Wienright went missing over a month ago."

"Why should I care. I've had all the games and bullshit I'm going to take from you." Sam fired back and was about to hang up when something pulled at his memory, "Did you say Ricky, Wienright?"

"Over and over again."

"Ricky Wienright, yeah I met him once or twice, he's was dating a good friends sister." Sam said forgetting for a moment to be angry, "He went missing after Christmas do you know what happened to him?

"I'm sorry Sam but he came here to New Orleans to study Voodoo or something and a very powerful local priest turned him into a zombie." Dean answered a note of sympathy in his voice, "I'm really sorry, I drove a stake through him tonight. His father came looking for him but I guess the priest didn't think he'd make a good zombie so he used the old man's scull for an alter decoration. Crazy son of a bitch damn near got me killed."

"What do you mean? I thought you said Rick was a zombie and his dad was dead." Sam asked a little confused.

"Well be both know the dead can walk and talk." Dean answered sounding a little annoyed, "First Steve Wienright helps me get in to the temple with a little inside info then he brings the house down on me when he realizes I'm not out to slaughter everybody."

"Oh my God, was anybody hurt." Sam asked.

"Hurt definitely, some of the guys I shot might have survived but the chances aren't good." Dean admitted.

"You killed human beings" Sam gasped in horror.

"Yah Sammy. I shot the people who were trying to kill me and by the way, don't worry about me. I got the bullet out of my arm and sowed up my leg just fine." Dean snapped.

"Oh shit."

"Look I've got to hit the road just in case someone did get out of there in one piece and comes looking for me."

"Is there any chance?" Sam asked his concern growing.

"Not likely, I blacked out my face, wore gloves, the whole nine yards but just in case." Dean quieted Sam's fears, "Look Sam you should keep an eye on your neighbourhood and call me if you find something. I'm watching the area and dad comes by every chance he gets to make sure your safe, but it may not be enough. Sure you can protect yourself but your friends can't. Call me if you find anything suspicious. I'd rather come on a hundred goose chases than come to late, so call."

A long silence followed. Dean couldn't even hear him breathing. He was glad Sam was being as civil as he was considering his mood when he answered the phone but the silence was beginning to worry him.

"Sam? Sammy you there?" Dean asked, "Common dude talk to me."

"Dad comes by? I've never seen him." Sam stammered.

"Well yah, he's worried about you." Dean gave a chuckle, "He checks the area, watches to make sure you're okay."

"It's been over two years and he hasn't so much as made a phone call." Sam continued to stammer in confusion, "He's coming here?"

"Dude, why do you think dad freaked when you told him you were leaving?" Dean replied happy for the opportunity to mend this fence, "He was afraid of what could happen to you if he wasn't there to protect you. What did you think he was going to forget about you?"

"Well it seemed like he just wanted to cut me out of his life."

"Sammy the guy brags about you every chance he gets." Dean laughed, "Listening to him going on about his brainy son in Stanford is getting old."

"But he's never called. Never tried at all."

"Neither have you." Dean said with a smile in his voice, "You two. You dig in your heals and won't give an inch if it kills you no matter how much you want to. Too stubborn, to proud. God you're so much alike it's spooky."

"Not funny." Sam snapped.

Dean just laughed then said, "Keep an eye on things and call me if something looks even remotely supernatural. Promise Sammy."

"Dean I don't know why I'm even talking to you after the shit you pulled on me." Sam growled remembering how angry he was with Dean.

"Every word I told you was the truth."

"And just how do you know that." Sam demanded.

"I know an oracle who can work some pretty powerful mojo. Be careful Sam and stay away from that girl for both your sakes." Dean pushed gently.

"An oracle, like the oracle of Delphi?" Sam asked he curiosity suddenly peaked.

"Honestly Sammy I wouldn't be surprised if she was the oracle of Delphi. She was summoned here about three hundred years ago by a coven of witches. It seems she didn't appreciate it. The coven was killed in the Salome witch hunts. General consensus is the oracle arranged it." Dean gave him some back ground hoping for credibility, "Sammy, if you don't listen to me you're going to find out just how dad feels."

"Good bye, Dean." Sam snapped and hung up the phone.

* * *

Sam growled in frustration wondering why he couldn't be left alone. Was he cursed? Would the supernatural plague him everywhere he went? He couldn't blame Dean for this latest intrusion but he wished he didn't know the truth. How would he explain this to Zack and Becky? He'd think of something. Like Dean, Sam was well schooled in lying, dad made sure of that.

Dad, bragging about him. Sam found that incredible. How could he be proud and at the same time try to stop him. John was an even bigger enigma that Dean. Sam picked up his cell phone again and stared at it attentively. What would he say? What excuse would he give?

'Gee dad, Dean just told me you brag about me all the time and I wanted to say thanks?'

Yah sure, right after screaming and denying everything he'd take Dean's head off followed by Dean coming to Stanford to kick the shit out of him. His head was starting to hurt.

"God my family's totally screwed up." Sam muttered and decided to turn in for the night.

Sam curled up in his bed a smile on his face. His dad bragged about him. Yah that was nice.

* * *

Dean's bags were packed and waiting when he returned to the motel. His first aid and cleanup done, he tossed them into the back and was on the highway with a tall star bucks when his cell phone rang. Dad. Tired and aching from his battle wounds, Dean didn't have to work to sound sick.

"Dean what's wrong with you?" John asked.

"It seems I picked up strep throat somewhere." Dean answered as raspy as he could.

"Damn it Dean how did you manage that?" John demanded annoyed.

"I have no idea. Maybe I got it up from a girl I picked up in a bar?" Dean groused effectively.

"You have to be more careful." John sighed then paused before demanding, "Are you in the car? Are you on the road?"

"Yah, I had to pick up lozenges and more meds for the fever. Maybe I could eat ice-cream. Isn't that what people with a sore throat eat?" Dean scrambled for an explanation as to why he wasn't in bed.

"Good boy, take care of yourself, how long will you be recovering?" John in a gentler tone.

"A few days." Dean answered knowing his father wouldn't accept it.

"Dean!" John warned.

"Closer to five days."

"Damnit Dean strep throat is highly contagious." John barked.

"I'll be finished the antibiotics in a week. I should be past contagious long before…"

"Meet me in Evening Shade, Oklahoma, in ten days just to be damned sure." John used his order voice.

"Dad you know that it stops being contagious just a few days after starting antibiotics, come on."

"Did you hear me that's an order. Rest, recuperate. I don't want to see a hint of illness or weakness on you suggesting you didn't." John snapped and hung up the phone muttering, "Damn it son I have to badger you to get you to look after yourself."

"Dad you are so predictable." Dean grinned and put a few hours between himself and New Orleans listening to the radio for any bad news.

The shoot out did make the news but no one seemed to know who broke in to the temple. Some speculated it was a rival Voodoo priest? The important point was no one knew and if priests wanted to start killing each other Dean wouldn't complain. Dean put as much distance between himself and New Orleans as his arm would allow then pulled over for a nap.

Two days of 12 hours driving would bring him to Greenfield Massachusetts, where he would find a Puritan village. Dean had as much time as he needed now but he wasn't going to waste any. He took a half hours break to eat a burger and fries for lunch which in his book was an indulgence and stopped for a late dinner before crashing in the back of the Impala. After a quick wash in a truckers stop he felt refreshed like he could do ten hours without a break. He damn near did. He rolled into Greenfield in the evening of the second day but had to wait until morning for the pioneer village to open so, Dean found the nearest pool hall to replenish his depleting funds. He managed four hundred dollars before calling it quits then did a sweep of the offerings in the bar. There were no high society ladies there to sneer at him. A few lovelies gave him a smile and as he approached one a voice whispered 'If you give what you promise and take only what you are due no fault will be found.' That was fine with him.

Dean sat down with a pretty redhead named Susie and decided to go with the private detective story and see if it would work again. He told a few stories that weren't too far from the truth and said he was working on something but would be on the road soon. She asked to see his gun and he said he'd get arrested. After some discussion Dean reached behind his back under his jacket and played a little peek-a-boo so Susie could get a look then quickly shoved his 45 back in his pants.

Susie was a giggler and very playful if not very imaginative, but was willing to try new things with a little coxing. Sadly she did fall asleep rather early by Dean's standards. That was alright he needed his rest and his arm was starting to complain. She was still dead to the world when Dean rose and he hurriedly dressed. As he tiptoed out the door he remember another comment the oracle made. Dean looked over his shoulder. It was her choice to be there and in this day and age what was wrong with it. She new he was leaving, it was no surprise. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He shut the door…,and came back twenty minutes later with a strawberry pastry, a coffee and a flower. He put everything on the bed side table and wrote a little note.

'_Sweet Susie, I have to get an early start but I want to thank you for a great time. Dean. P.S You said you like strawberries, right?'_

Getting in the puritan village would be a simple matter of clipping a little fence and walking in. There was no electricity or barbed wire, nothing. There were minimal security lights and the security shack had two guards working twelve hour shifts. Dean wondered what time the graveyard shift took his nap. He went to the library in Greenfield to do some checking on the village. He was looking for a desk, sixteenth century. He finely found it under noteworthy donations. He it was the one in the meeting hall. There was time for a beer and basket of fish and chips before work. Four big pieces the sign had advertised.

It was the beginning of February and it was still damned cold and the guard was hanging in there. Dean had to leave the Impala well up the road and come on foot. After two hours of freezing his ass off he was not amused. His full belly wasn't keeping him worm and neither would just one beer. Thoughts of clocking the guy sixty years old or not were flashing through his mind when the old guy finely put his head on a pillow and closed his eyes. Dean gave him another twenty minutes before heading for the 'meeting hall' where the desk with the book was. The lock on the hall door was a joke but finding the book was a little harder. Finding the hidden cavity in the desk where the book had to be wasn't the problem but figuring out how to open it was. Dean twisted and turned and pushed everything that remotely looked like it might twist, turn or push and nothing. Dean was ready to take an axe to it when a light came bobbing along. Trust this to be the one old guard who was diligent in his duties.

Dean dove for the window and lay under it. He had pulled the door shut and using his knife pulled the clamp back over it so it would look like it was still locked but only at a quick glance. Any studied look would reveal the lock was missing. As soon as the guard passed Dean scooted under the desk and waited. Crunch, crunch, crunch, the guard walked on frosted grass. The crunching was moving away.

Dean slipped out from under the desk and glanced up at his nemesis. It would make great kindling. He stopped and looked at it a little more analytically. It was a very simple desk made in a simple time for a people with a very simple lifestyle. They wouldn't go in for fancy push buttons and levers. **K**eep **I**t **S**imple **S**tupid. The compartment was at the front of the desk behind the center drawer. Dean slid the center drawer out enough for him to be able to reach behind it. He found a groove he could get his fingers in. First he pulled then tugged downward then finely Dean pushed and it moved and he pushed some more and it moved several inches. Dean stood up and looked over the desk. A little trap door had appeared in the front of the big old desk and a drawer was sliding out. Dean pulled it the rest of the way out. The book of 'Angels and Demons'. It was about the same size as the Key of Solomon and as thick as a deluxe Bible. The wooden cover was wrapped in hide which encased the whole book. Dean tucked it into a back pack and put everything in the room back the way he found it. He checked the location of the guard waiting until he was as far away as possible then slipped out and relocked the building. Still frozen but satisfied with the days accomplishments Dean double timed it back to the Impala and his motel after picking up a large Coffee. He sat in a very worm bed very pleased with himself thinking he'd be able to relax and read on his way to Arkansas when another thought came to mind. How was he going to hide these books from his father and when would he get the chance to read them. The smug smile began to slip.

"I need a drink." he muttered and went to pick up the first fifth of Jack Daniels since arriving in this year.

Despite the drinking Dean gave his problem some thought and was up at the crack of dawn yanking off the back of the front seat of the Impala and after installing padding and huge canvas pockets to hold the books he put it back together with slip bolts and hinges . Dean hit the road by early afternoon. The end of the second days driving brought Dean into Evening Shade in good time for dinner. He pulled into a motel with a bag of take out. Dean had several days before his father would arrive and wanted to use that time to figure out what Castiel thought was so important about these books that he would break the rules to give them to him.

Keeping his dinner a careful distance from them Dean took the books out of their bags one at a time. First he picked up the, Malturu Nindanu Quradu, which translated in to Instruction Manuscript of Warrior Of God. Just a little unnerving for a training manual. Skimming through it Dean saw to be a Worrier of God would require some serious strength building and work on speed. When did he even suggest to Castiel he wanted such a title. The methods were a little bizarre but then the manual was thousands of years old so bizarre was to be expected. The sensory exorcizes were even weirder and Dean had even never heard of the mental training .

"Do you think I need that much help, Cass?" Dean muttered then put it aside.

The second book in the pile was 'The Book of Shadows'. The writing had a curtain familiarity. The alphabet was similar to the modern Roman letters used today but far from anything Dean could read. With the help of the rosary he found he was looking at vulgar Latin written in a form of cursive that hadn't been seen since the early middle ages. Dean was amazed to realize he was looking at a Grimoire written in twelve hundred and thirty-five before the publication of _**Malleus Maleficarum**_. The Malleus Maleficarum was a book written by two Dominican Inquisitors which out lined what constituted witchcraft and authorizing the persecution of it. Dean wondered if the lack of fear of witchcraft would make this more extensive than the 'Key of Solomon' or more watered down. On the other hand Cass wouldn't have sent him after something written by a hack. This could be incredibly useful. He hoped he would be able to show it to Bobby some day soon. He'd love it.

Next was the Book of Angels and Demons. Dean unbuckled it and found himself with yet another language and alphabet. '_No wonder Cass put me on to the rosary'_ The rosary revealed it was Koine Greek a standardised Greek that evolved a few hundred years BC and of course used the Greek alphabet. The book seemed to be in two halves. A quick scrutiny of the calfskin pages of the first half of the book revealed it was The Septuagint, a Greek translation of an ancient Hebrew Bible. No wonder this book was hidden. In a puritan village something like this could get you burned at the stake. The second half boasted the most remarkable illustrations Dean had ever seen. Brilliant drawings of demons and angels of sigils and symbols of summoning and cleansing rituals. Dean found in this book he could study not only the enemy but, well, his other enemy. It was more than just a list of who's who but quite a bit of how too. He had never realized just how far up the ladder Azazel was and Ashtoreth wasn't any messenger boy either. Dean had been damned lucky. Castiel was an Angel of some note as well. This and the other books would require a lot of study. Dean would have to find another source of income. He climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling thinking there had to be some financial advantage in having already lived through the next seven years.

The answer came to him over breakfast when he glanced at the sports page of the local newspaper. Dean had several days to figure out how he was going to do it and tuned to the Nindanu for help. While looking at the book Dean had noticed a section on memory recall and chuckled over it because one thing he always had confidence in was his memory. What he needed however would be an extreme case of memory recall but according to the book it was not beyond the realm of possibilities. After performing relaxation exorcizes and clearing his mind Dean focused on a specific time and date and tried to create an image in his mind of the results of professional hockey games played the night before. Dean always glanced at such things in the event that he had to schmooze with a jock to get what he needed. He didn't expect success right away and he didn't get it. How could he? What did Dean know about relaxation exorcises and clearing his mind? It would take time and practice. Dean shrugged off the inevitable 'I feel like an idiot' gut reaction to what he was doing and kept working determined to keep at it until he got it right no matter how ridicules he felt. After all Castiel won't have given him the book if it didn't work.

Despite his repeated failures Dean was in high spirits when John arrived but seeing his father brought him back to where he was in time. After Sam left John went on a rampage going after everything they could find in a heated rush without a break. The sense of exhaustion was there in Dean's twenty-four year old body and spirit. He groaned and wondered if there was anything he could do to change yet another piece of history. Dean managed to restrain himself when he first saw his father remembering how difficult his father had become at this time but what he wanted was to rush over and give his dad a big hug. John arrived early afternoon wanting only a quick take out lunch and general conversation about anything but the job.

Dean basked in the joy of being in his father's company after so many painful years. This was another thing Sam didn't remember, the good times, the laughing and joking. Some of Dean's favourite child hood memories involved a summer in a cabin that didn't have a tub or shower so they were bathing in the lake. Bath time became gang up on dad time. Laughter abounded as the big man literally played with his boys. There were camping trips deep into the woods for training that were found as well. Dean didn't love the training even if he saw the necessity for it. What he did love was evenings around the camp fire when his dad taught him to play the guitar. Later on there were quiet times in a bar with a beer and a dart board. Dad always understood when he decided to turn in and Dean said don't wait up for me. John would just clap him on the shoulder and chuckle saying 'Watch your back Ace.'

As the sun began to set John became sombre as he often did if he'd had a rough time or been without a hunt for a while. It was back to business. First and foremost John demanded a full report on the job in Clearlake and Dean gave him an embellished version of what happened to explain how he came by certain knowledge. He also included a detailed description of the birth of Deannie Morris. Instead of a pat on the back for dispensing with the spirit and having a baby named after him John barked at him for being so reckless and sloppy.

"How sloppy and reckless?" Dean demanded then immediately regretted it. He knew his father would answer and that he really didn't want to know.

" Let's start with you were caught by both the spirit and his sister ….." and the lecture went on.

* * *

Sam couldn't count the number of things that were going right for him. His first year had been incredibly difficult. Thought he loved being on his own, away from his family he'd never done it for more than a few weeks and at that only once. Sam was accustomed to maintaining a charade during school hours and for the few hours he spent at friends homes it wasn't hard but living the lie twenty four seven was at least at first a strain. Over coming the desire to put salt at all the doors and windows and sleeping in a room unprotected was possibly the hardest thing to do. He spent many hours in bed listening to strange sounds and waiting for something to come bursting in. But it never did and the fear slowly faded. In time he began to believe evil was a rare thing that had to be sought out. By the end of the second year things began to slip into place.

His life slowly slid into a pattern that resembled everyone else's around him. He listened to how others talked, what they talked about and how they interacted with each other and he slowly adopted their ways. He even began jogging and working out in the gym to keep in shape. Sam did want to keep in shape even improve it. The thought deep in his subconscious that some day he may have to face something without his brother as his shield. Sam convinced himself he was just staying healthy and maintaining a high energy level with exorcise and a high protean diet. The supernatural was not a factor, it was not part of his life and he need not worry about it anymore. Until Dean opened his big mouth and ruined everything.

Jessica was beautiful yes but that was the least of her perfections. She was smart, graduating top in her class and was chosen valedictorian. He love of school may not have equaled his but it was a high priority. It was just as well she wasn't as obsessed as Sam because she was the one that made sure he had fun, coxing him into going to parties and on outings he might not have otherwise indulged in. And she coxed, she didn't bitch or push or nag but convinced him he'd like it. He laughed a great deal when they were together, she could always make him smile no matter how upset he was. Jessica was a gentle soul without a drop of hostility or violence in her, she went to church on Sunday's for heavens sake. She was kind and generous to others giving of herself. She was everything Sam could possible want in a woman.

Which was exactly what Dean said she would be. Damned Dean for bringing to his world what he dreaded the most and casting a shadow over what should have been the happiest time in his life. It was a lucky guess, no an educated one. Sam began to work it out in his mind. Dean knew him, knew what he would want in a girl and therefore after learning about Jessica knew how he'd feel about her. That was all it was. The alternative was simply not an option. Dean couldn't be right, Sam wouldn't consider it.

* * *

**Another chapter proofed with only a few touch ups and corrections ie: referring to the training manual as a Nindanu (manuscript) not as the Quradu (Worrier of God) and other miner things like that. **


	5. Chapter 5 Temperatures Rising

**-I don't own Sam and Dean, I just borrow them but I always give them back.**

* * *

**C_HAPTER 5_**

**_TEMPERATURES RISING_**

Exhausted or not Dean was in heaven. He had a couple of shots and a few laughs with his dad every chance he got and challenged him to a few games of pool. His father was the only one who'd been able to beat him for years. The old feeling of being able to take whatever comes was a powerful seed growing and blossoming inside him. It was like coming alive again. But hunting with his father had a downside. Dean tried to not ask questions, to be silent and obey, but try as he did he couldn't forget the years of hunting on his own. Not knowing all the facts of the job or what his father had planned left him defenceless and unable to act if something went wrong. It became an even greater concern when Dean realized that his adventures before meeting up with his dad had altered the course of events. He could better cope with his father's, need to know, attitude when he remembered the job but not when working on cases they hadn't before. He could not, would not, flounder in the dark obeying orders like a loyal doberman pincher waiting to be whistled for and never knowing why. Dean hoped that by approaching John calmly and respectfully his father would understand. That John would treat him more like a partner than a child. It was a vain hope, he knew, and gave up on it quickly. Every time his father shut him down or just ignored his question, frustration and anger would simmer and steam like a pot on low heat.

_**Hortonville Wisconsin March 7th**_

Dean was huddled in an alcove at the first junction in a coal mine maintaining his lookout position. He waited, as ordered, trying not to think a great deal, because it only fed his anger and he was already seeing red. Dean didn't remember ever being this frustrated with his father, his orders, or his refusal to answer a simple question, and he was certain he was never this irate.

For the first few hunts Dean had been so happy, hearing John snap "just do it" or "because I said so" almost made him laugh. Having his father blustering along strong and confidant washed away the aches and pains of the last seven years. As in all marriages the honeymoon didn't last. The friction began. It was equally apparent that John was not going to tolerant Dean's probing and nudging. The more aggressive Dean became the more aggressive John became. He was cutting Dean off before he could finish a thought much less a suggestion.

John spent five minutes telling Dean in no uncertain terms not to move from the perch he was placed in. Dean checked his watch, he had been waiting hours without a sign of John. He'd had enough of following orders. Something was obviously wrong. Dean was going looking for the master drill sergeant before the werebear passed him carrying sergeant left over's to feed to the dogs.

There were marks on the walls that would have been overlooked by anyone else. Dean found them easily and followed his father's path through the mineshafts, carefully watching, silently listening, for any sign of his father or the bear. Rumbling noises bounced off the walls from time to time but the echoes made it impossible to discern where they were coming from so all he could do was follow the markings and hope it would lead him to the wearbear. Or maybe hope it wouldn't.

Dean smelled a powerful aroma of blood in a light breeze, before he saw or heard anything, which surprised him quit a bit. He focused all his senses in the direction it came from and proceeded growing uneasy as John's trail continued. Dean had ventured only a few feet up the new tunnel when a bellowing growl emanated from a smaller shaft up ahead. He pressed his back against the wall trying to blend into it as he slid along to the corner and peeked around. A brown werebear perhaps eight feet tall with black markings was angrily pawing at a vent in the wall, snorting, huffing trying to get in, to reach something inside. It would struggle, pound the wall then throw it's head back and growl in frustration.

'So there you are dad.' Dean thought and stepped into the tunnel shouting, "Hey Yogi!"

The tall hair covered burly man with the big snout and black eyes turned, and growling, threw up it's arms and charged. With no sense of urgency Dean raised his pistol and fired four shots into the creatures heart. It's shrill cry of rage filled the tunnels as the beast collapsed to the floor, a yard from Dean. He had stopped feeling guilt or distress over killing werebeings after the first few. The shock wears off quickly or it did for him. With the death of the creature the face of the man could be seen in the beast. Dean thought the human appeared to be at peace, in quiet slumber. After tearing people apart as a were-anything, death would be a peaceful and preferable option. Dean indulged in these thoughts only a moment then rushed to the crevice in the wall to find his father trying to extradite himself from a tight situation. He was battered, bloodied and furious.

"You sure as hell took your time." John snarled as he reluctantly accepted Dean's help, "You should have been able to follow the trail. What were you doing?"

"Following orders." Dean replied, his stomach twisting.

"Don't give me any smart ass answers." John snapped his voice and temper rising.

"I didn't." Dean replied as he picked up the carcass.

At that moment neither were in a mood for an argument so they walked in silence. Dean dragged the werebear to a clearing where they had stashed a can of gas and box of salt. Dean dug a shallow pit and tossed the cadaver in over some dried sticks and brush then the salt and fuel.

"Rest in peace dude, your nightmare's over." Dean offered a simple blessing before dropping the matches.

John stared at him startled, "What was that?" He asked.

Dean sighed and asked, "Have you ever noticed there's a human being in there?"

"You just killed a were-animal who was trying to kill me." John insisted.

"I know." Dean acknowledged and asked, "Did he bite you?"

"No." John snapped.

"Good, then I won't have to remember that the next were-animal I kill was once my father who didn't want to be a monster and eat people." Dean tried to make a point.

"When did you start getting soft." John huffed.

"I'm not soft!" Dean raised his voice startling his father, "I just haven't given up my soul, and I'm not going to."

Dean headed back to the Impala which was only ten minutes away. He could feel his fathers eyes boring into him but found it difficult to care.

"Dean!" John barked trailing after him considerably slower, "Damn it, stop! Look at me!" Dean turned to face him, "What the hell's gotten into you? You know this job requires a fine edge. You've got to be tough in this business or you end up dead. You're of no use to me if you get sentimental over every kill."

"Yes sir, I understand tough, having the edge. And I do or that bear wouldn't be dead." Dean answered, a growl in his voice. "But there's a difference between tough and cold hearted bastard. What the hell's wrong with a couple of words for the man inside the bear."

"That compassion's what makes you hesitate." John barked, the drill sergeant in full uniform. "Get any idea's about the man in the animal out of your head, now!" he ordered and started walking, believing the matter was settled.

Dean stepped in front of his father, his face calm, a smile pulling at his lips, "It's only a problem if you have qualms about killing people and I don't. A man tries to kill you he's dead. No hesitation, no regrets."

Dean didn't know how he felt about the shocked expression on his father's face. It depended on whether John was appalled, worried or pleasantly surprised. He doubted he was pleasantly surprised. Dean continued on to the car before John could make another comment. He was about to jump in when it occurred to him he was being neglectful and asked his dad if they should ride together and come back for the truck later. After a brief pause he reserved a gruff answer.

John looked at the claw marks on his left side. He would prefer to rest but he needed time to think before having another conversation with Dean. He grunted no and forced himself to take the wheel. Dean's training began at age six, when he took the boy behind a cabin to see what he could do with a pistol. It was a proud moment, and a comforting one, when Dean popped all six cans with a revolver. He knew Dean could be taught to protect himself and Sam. The one thing that might stand in the way of true excellence was the boy's nurturing nature. He had his mothers eyes. John could see her gentle soul and giving selfless nature in Dean. He took a hard line with the boy, demanding excellence and was intolerant of weakness or failure, to toughen him up. John had thought having Mary's nature was an advantage in Dean's ability to care for Sam but that proved disastrous. Dean spoiled Sam and now he was gone. On the other hand, one thing in Dean's nature that was never a worry was his devotion to his family and his father, until now.

By the time John arrived at the motel room Dean had the first aid kit out and the suture kit ready. John couldn't help sighing. Dean had a good steady hand but his careful precise work tended to make him slow. He sat down with a bottle of whiskey ready to begin a careful interrogation.

"So how did he get the drop on you dad." Dean beat him to it.

"The echo's in the tunnels faked me out." John snapped, "What took you so long. I was in there for hours."

Success, they were on the subject of the hunt not the werebear**/**man issue which was where Dean wanted it.

"You ordered me to sit at that junction. I was obeying orders." Dean replied.

Dean cleaned up the wounds and began stitching up the three deepest gouges.

"Damn it take your time and do the job right!" John barked alarmed at his speed, "I've had enough of your smart ass answers. I could have been killed in there while you sulked."

"I'm doing a damned good job." Dean snapped back, "Dad if you want me to do something besides sit on my ass than don't scream in my face to JUST wait for you to flush out the werebear. 'Is there any room for interpretation in that, Dean?'."

"I expect you to use your head." John began after a grumbling period of silence. Nothing like having his words thrown at him to set his teeth grinding, "If I don't come out in a reasonable length of time I hope you're smart enough to come looking for me."

Dean finished the second gouge and had to get down on a knee to get a decent angle on the third. He took a moment to cool his temper before answering.

"The last thing you want me doing is using my head. You go to great lengths to make sure I don't." Dean returned, feeling his father's eyes boring into him.

"What did you say?" John demanded.

"I never know enough to make any real decisions, which is the whole point." Dean fired back, "How can I figure anything out when you don't tell me what you're thinking or even half of what you're doing? So what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Dean was genuinely surprised when his father grabbed him by the shoulder of his jacket and yanked him around to face him. One look at his face and Dean knew he'd pushed too hard.

"You're in no position to criticise how I work." John barked, "You didn't even have enough sense to come looking for me when I spent four hours doing a two hour job.

"Dad you spent five minutes beating me over the head with the fact that I wasn't supposed to move and now your beating me over the head for not moving soon enough." Dean growled, "What the FUCK do you want. How the FUCK do I win."

Dean swore like everybody else but he never screamed fuck in John's face and his eyes were hard and filled anger. John had never seen that before either. Knowing Dean had a legitimate complaint made it no easier to accept. Dean kept John's feet on the ground with his practical approach to all things. He never lost sight of what they were doing or why and never even considered the possibility of defeat much less quitting. Dean soldiered on through hurricane, fire or flood giving John strength and faith in himself when no one and nothing else could. Dean was his anchor. John couldn't loose that.

"I think we both need some cooling off time." John suggested letting go of his son.

"Just a couple of more stitches then I'm going out for a drink." Dean replied after a long silence and without another word he did.

Dean wouldn't be back tonight and just as well. John had no idea what he would say to him. He pulled a bottle of tequila out of one of his bags poured a glass and sat to think. It was hours before he lay down to sleep. Only the tequila made it possible for him to slip away into dream free oblivion.

John woke to the smell of a coffee sitting by his bed. Thank you Dean for buying Starbucks. The sludge they call coffee in these motels can be hard enough to swallow on a good day, never mind after a night of bending elbow. Dean was sitting at the table coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other, showered and dressed for the road. He kept his eyes on his newspaper when John dragged himself out of the bed. John noted the lack of a greeting or more important an apology for screaming in his face but swallowed his disapproval preferring a shower over a heated discussion. John let the hot water beat down on his neck softening tense muscles, then washed away the dirt, sweet and blood of the day before. He felt almost human when he stepped out of the bathroom.

"What did you do last night?" John tried breaking the ice with casual conversation.

"I mailed a letter to Sam and partied with a hot babe I picked up in that redneck bar down the street." Dean droned without emotion.

"You mailed a letter to Sam?" John gasped.

"Yah I mailed a letter to Sam." Dean reiterated wondering what the hell he was doing pushing his father's buttons.

"Why?" John asked at a loss.

"I had something to say to him." Dean replied keeping his eyes on his newspaper.

"We agreed that since Sam abandoned us there would be no contact with him." John snapped his ire up, "What possible excuse could you have for disobeying me."

"What agreement?" Dean said finely looking up, "You gave an order and I didn't fight. After making me responsible for him my whole life, I'm not going to just stop caring?"

"Where is this coming from?" John began slowly.

John spent hours last night mulling over Dean's new attitude and thought he'd come up with a plan to bring him back in line. He hoped the problem was a simple matter of giving him to much leash making him over confident. John believed a calm none confrontational reprimand with a promise of more freedom later would settle him down. This new act of defiance was right out of left field and didn't figure into his plan. John pushed everything else aside to look solely at the issue of Sam. He could revisit the plan latter.

John sat at the table and dug into the bag of bagels and cream cheese. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye and waited. Nice and fresh and real cream cheese, none of that half fat shit. Dean was still waiting, 'good, he isn't foolish enough to think I'll let this act of defiance slip by. Now to get him off balance. Give him a couple of inches then yank him back a mile'.

"You have a point." John conceded, "I can't expect you to just cut your brother out of your life but I do expect you to be honest with me."

"Every time I mention Sam's name you shut me down." Dean returned, hostility fading from his voice, "How am I supposed to be honest with you if you don't let me say anything?"

John nodded. Dean had him on that too. This was not going well. He was loosing before he even got a chance to open fire.

"All right, I'm not very open when it comes to Sam." John reluctantly admitted, "But that's not our only problem. You've been rude and disrespectful and dangerously insubordinate.

"How?" Dean asked, "Tell me we're not talking about yesterday again?"

"You're damned right." John raised his voice, "When I point out your mistakes I don't expect a lot of back talk. Can you give me a rational explanation for all this attitude?"

"What's rational about ordering me to do what I'm told then telling me I'm wrong for doing it?" Dean replied with surprising calm.

"You were sulking!" John raised his voice another octave.

"I don't sulk." Dean's voice started to rise, "I was trying to figure out whiat I should get hammered for, obeying orders or for disobeying then. I went with making sure you weren't dead." Dean paused to calm himself, "If you want more than that you're going to have to let me in on the plan and give me some maneuvering space."

"Ace, I know you think you can do a lot more." John shifted into dad mode, "You've handled a few hunts on your own so now you think you're ready, but you have to slow down. You still have a lot to learn, son. Take your time and damn it stop pushing me. I can't teach you anything if I'm fighting you. I'll tell you when you're ready for more responsibility. Till then step back and follow orders."

John expected a softening of Dean's features. Some indication that he was thinking things over followed by a suitable amount of embarrassment over all the trouble he was causing his father. The hard mask gave way to a smirk as Dean took on the arrogant defiance he displayed for all other authority figures... 'Uh oh, this is bad, very bad'.

"Okay dad. I'll followed orders just as soon as you decide which ones you want me to obey." he said in a mocking manner John never expected his son to use on him, "The ones where I stand where I'm told and let you do all the thinking or the ones were I use my head and come rescue your ass? When you figure it out let me know."

"Dean!" John barked but Dean was already on his feet.

He grabbed his bags and started for the door.

"This conversation isn't over." John barked.

Dean stopped at the door and slowly turned to face his father. All mocking and arrogance was gone, replaced by a strength John hadn't noticed before. Dean shook his and sighed thoughtfully but he didn't put down his bags. When he finely spoke there was a frightening lack of emotion in his voice.

"You're right. I have a lot to learn but with you refusing to fill me on how you're figuring things out and why you're doing whatever it is your doing, I learn nothing." Dean said, "I'm just a weapon in your war against evil. That's all you think I'm good for. I'll see you in Hartford."

John wanted to say something to wipe the look of sad resignation from his son's face but he wasn't sure what put it there. The shifting form congenial and supportive to demanding and contrary and back again was making John dizzy. He never knew which to expect. Since Dean was a boy only a few words of criticism or complaint put Dean back on track, the more specific and detailed the better, like a good soldier striving to be all he could be. When did that change and why? Was Dean developing a split personality or just going through a phase or was he starting to question his commitment to him and their cause? He stared at the door a long while before pulling himself together and hitting the road. He listened to the engine of his powerful truck letting its low rhythmic rumble help him sort his thoughts.

John began to form a new plan. They would have a couple of beer, a game of darts and some very careful conversation about what they both wanted. He would then talk about how hard they work, how dangerous it was and how careful they had to be. They had a mission and they couldn't let anything distract them from it. Man to man talk, that should put them back on track.

* * *

The dorms of Stanford were abuzz with departures. Sam stopped at the mail room before running up the stairs to his second floor room. He had an invitation for March break his first year there. A trip to Reno, Nevada. They didn't exactly travel in style but Sam was accustomed to cheep hotels. What he wasn't accustomed to was the, relax and enjoy, stress free atmosphere of those around him. He watched shows, gambled a little, very little, and partied around the pool. It seemed most every hotel in Reno had a pool and during March break ever pool had a college party. This trip to Mexico would be even better.

He had a light mood and a light step having had a satisfying meeting with his civics professor. Sam had put extra time into a number of his classes to make sure he didn't have anything hanging over him during his trip. He wanted to have nothing on his mind except Jessica. together they would look about the city, take in sights and just sit in a café and enjoy the ambiance. Then go to a nightclub and dance. Well he would pretend to dance.

A vacation without unpleasant distractions, one in which he could devote himself to Jessica and fun was the primary reasons he hadn't suggested going with Brady to Savannah. Sam didn't want to spend his holiday's worrying about Brady partying with the most out of control crowd he could find and doing whatever drugs he could get his hands on. Brady was taking to much of Sam's time away from studies and Jessica as it was. This one little week was just for him and her. He would worry about his best friend ruining his life when he got back to Stanford. It was a wonder the guy wasn't flunking out of all his classes. The fact that Dean predicted this was adding to Sam's concerns and distractions.

He glanced at his mail, and found a letter with a typed envelope bearing a return address in Sutherland Nebraska which he didn't recognize. He dropped it on his desk to attend to it later and hurried to pack the few cloths he had washed that morning. Though Sam would never be frivolous with money some of his spending habits had changed. Compared to some, his wardrobe was rather limited with at least half his T shirt still purchased from the Salvation Army but some were not and some of his cloths were bought at finer clothing shops that were not named Walmart. Shops that he was not even allowed to enter when he was growing up. He and Dean did go in once or twice to steal some cloths and were reprimanded for taking such chances for something so frivolous. What Sam now packed were purchased with money earned in the tavern where he worked part time. He held up his latest purchase, a blazer that matched the black pants he just took out of the wash. He wanted something he could ware when he took Jessica out to a nice club. Having to buy in men's big and tall shops didn't make finding something he could afford easy, but he was pleased with his acquisition. He was determined that Jessica would be proud to be seen with him.

The last time he fussed so much over a date was the high school prom. Dad had refused to give him any money for a tux and corsage so he took every job he could find and helped Dean hustle pool until they had the cash. His big brother even lent him the Impala for the date. Dean had to go behind their father's back to rent his tux for his own prom. Fortunately dad was on a bender that day and Dean was able to get the keys to the car out of his dad's pants pockets. John was only a little less contrary about Sam's prom but at least he had Dean helping him.

Dean, why had he thought about him. He could have gone very happily without thinking about damned Dean for the entire March break. He would, he made a vow. Dean, Brady and all other disturbing thoughts would be banished and only friends and Jessica would occupy his mind. There was a light rap on the door that drew his attention.

"Come in Jess." He called smiling.

He tended to smile at the sound of her knock, the smell of her perfume or even the mention of her name. She pocked her head around the door a beaming smile upon her lovely face. There wasn't a more beautiful smile then that of Jessica More. When she was in the room it was easy to think of nothing else.

"How do you do that?" she grinned.

"Pure talent." Sam grinned back, "Is Glen here with the van already?"

"Oh yah, he's in a big hurry. Clara's trying to rein him in but it's not easy." Jessica laughed.

"Do we really want to go on a trip with a mad man?" Sam joked.

"Well, we can be sure it won't be dull." Jessica giggled.

"That's what I'm afraid of." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Live dangerously for once."

"Yah," Sam sighs, "I can handle dangerous as long as it doesn't get bloody."

"I'm sure we'll be fine." Jessica grinned amused by Sam's antics.

Sam threw the blazer over his shoulder, picked up his carefully packed bag and bent down to gently kiss Jessica's soft smiling mouth.

"I know we'll be fine. I won't let anything bad happen, I promise." Sam promised with the confidence of one who knows he can keep it.

Without another word Sam guided Jessica out of the room and off to the waiting van leaving the letter behind.

* * *

**March 9****th**** , Hartford Indiana.**

During the research stage of a hunt their routine was well established. They spent the day digging up ever piece of information that could be found on the victims and if circumstances dictated on where they died. Early in the evening Dean dropped off his share of the research materials at the motel, then went out for takeout. They were trying to figure out why, for the last seventeen years, six out of nine choir masters for the local Catholic church were found behind the rectory with their necks broken. All the paper work Dean could find on the victims he placed on the dinette table then left to pick up dinner. By the time he returned John was deep into research mode barely acknowledging Dean until the food was placed in front of him.

His father's focus was all consuming when doing research. Sam and Dean's ongoing communication probably would have driven him nuts. His solitary ways were no doubt part of what made it difficult for him to deal with an equal partner. Some might call it a flaw in his character. Was it possible that John didn't work and play well with others, not because he wouldn't but couldn't, incorporate other views into his own. Perhaps he and Sam were more Campbell then Winchester, but then again, grandpa Campbell wasn't the team player type either. 'Even in our own family Sam and I are freaks.', Dean thought then sat at the table and began looking over the papers. John finely made eye contact.

"Dean when you're finish eating check out the pool hall down the street." John said absently, "We're running low on ammo."

"Don't worry, I've got over five hundred dollars in my pocket." Dean returned.

"I didn't know you had that much." John said surprised.

"Last night dad." Dean reminded him, "I was in the bar hours before you arrived."

"Well go out again." John said giving him a wink.

"I'd like to go over this stuff." Dean said his smile slipping.

"Dean going over this stuff is my job." John replied his good humour slipping, "Your job is to do what you're told."

Dean sat very still keeping his face free of expression. Expectations invariably lead to disappointment and he didn't want his father to seen it in him. An evening of 'It's just you and me Ace.' with an occasional 'We have to work together.' and, 'We have to look after each other.' thrown in for good measure changed nothing. Less than twenty-four hours later he was back to, 'Do as you're told'. In the past Dean always thought the answers were there but he was missing something, he was too slow and inept to keep up. Well hind sight had twenty-twenty vision. In the cases they did before, John still wasn't listening and it wasn't because Dean had nothing to offer or was missing something.

It left Dean wondering if his father ignored him because John assumed he was too stupid or if he simply wasn't capable of accepting any opinion but his own. The fact was there wasn't a hunter John ever worked with that would call him amiable or easy to deal with. The general consensus was John Winchester was a miserable son of a bitch you didn't work with if you didn't have to. Even Bobby who couldn't care less what people thought of him reached his limit and ran John off with a shotgun. He earned the reputation by arguing and bulling not ignoring people. At least John respected them enough to listen. 'Do as your told was reserved for his son's' and blind obedience was expected of Dean. When Dean neither moved nor responded John looked up from his papers, a question in his eyes.

"Dad." Dean finely spoke with a slow but even tone, "Do you think you could treat me like an adult or at least speak to me like one?"

"What now?" John groaned.

"You tell a five year old his job is to do what he's told." Dean replied, keeping his calm, "I've always shown you respect dad. Could you do the same for me."

"Respect is something you earn." John replied just as calmly.

"Well that kind of says it all, doesn't it." Dean returned after a long painful silence.

"Says it all about what?" John asked reluctantly.

"I haven't earned the right to be treated like and adult?" Dean said and paused to use a little imagery and breathing to calm himself.

It was strange how some feelings changed while others remained the same. Such an emotional slap in the face still made him feel small, stupid, and above all worthless, generating a nauseous churning pool deep in the pit of his stomach. Dean never asked why, he thought he already knew. He deserved it. But know he wasn't so sure. Where the seeds of doubt came from was unclear. The idea that questioned his belief system was without substance, lacking shape or form. I deserved it, was not longer cut and defined by, because he said so.

"It's a question of responsibility Dean." John answered with a big frustrated sigh.

Responsibility was a bad choice of words. Something hot and bitter burned in side crushing the reflex to accept his fathers verdict as gospel truth. Images of the argument he had with himself in side his head after taking the African Dream Root were flashing through his mind. John Winchester was no one to be giving an address on the subject of responsibility. Not to Dean. Not after burdening Dean with all his domestic responsibility's. Dean had years of practice swallowing anger, so he choked down a little more and stayed on track.

"Go on." Dean urged.

"What?" John demanded.

"I asked for a little respect and you said no." Dean gave him a recap, "Something about responsibility?"

"And what about that do you not understand?" John complained more than asked.

"I was carrying more responsibility when I was twelve than most people do at twenty-five." Dean lost control of some of the anger, "I was Sam's fucking mother and a single parent for weeks and months at a time. I handled all the school shit whether you were there or not. I hustled money or stole food when we were short, which was fifty percent of the time. Damn it I was the one that told Sam the facts of life. Either I was one damned responsible kid or you didn't give a shit."

"What the … what are you talking about?" John stammered too stunned by the outburst to be angry.

"Come on dad either I'm fucking responsible or you didn't give a shit." Dean cornered him.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." John chickened out.

After a long painful silence Dean growled, "Wrong answer." and bolted out the door.

Disgust leaves a foul taste in the mouth, particularly when it's directed at oneself and Dean was revolted by his lack of self control. His outburst cried of 'See what a good boy I am'. A plea he felt for twenty years but in shame never voiced. Anger and humiliating diatribes came from indulging in expectations but why he expected approval from his father now Dean didn't know. But for all his dashed hopes, his anger had always been directed at himself, not his father, so where did the fury come from? Dean drove to the nearest liquor store for a bottle of Jack Daniels then stopped for a bacon cheese burger and fries before pulling into a secluded area and pulling out the Malturu Nindanu (Instruction Manuscript) to look for answers. All this temper and rage started after he began the memory exorcises. There had to be a connection.

Dean had skimmed through the book several times focusing on mastering recall not only to bet on sports but to work on a project to help Sam. A letter with a very important message. With it sent Dean adopted a more casual attitude toward the book but maybe that was foolish. After spending half his life digging through piles of research material Dean was a fast reader well able to retain information, and by the time the sun began to rise he had devoured the entire Codex.

The training manual, was an wealth of insight into, sensory development, herbal medicine, self discipline and more. Dean would never have considered himself undisciplined, but considering what was coming he contemplated the possibility there was room for improvement, both physically and mentally. As for his inexplicable rage the only offering was that in recalling the past with clarity he could be "Plagued by past wounds that bleed afresh, tormenting mind and soul" but all it offered as a solution to the problem was to look at them "With the wisdom of age and a tolerant and a forgiving heart to bring peace to the past". Yah, simple he thought, 'I'm all grown up so I should get over it.' If it was that simple he'd have done it years ago.

"I'm missing something." he sighed.

Dean noticed first hints of dawn were touching the sky. He should grab a few hours sleep before his father woke. Facing him was a moment Dean was not looking forward to. He tucked the Nindanu back in it's pouch and headed back to the motel. He was startled to find his father sprawled out, fully clothed until he spotted the half empty bottle on the bedside table. He'd have a good couple of hours sleep, maybe. A month of being back had helped Dean's sleeping habit's considerably. He now managed four hours sleep a night rather than every second or third night. He rose at eight to find his father still snoring. It was not unusual for John to sleep after a binge. Dean shrugged and made a pot of coffee then jumped into the shower. His morning routine took only fifteen minutes but when finished, he found his father sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and braced himself for the inevitable third degree.

John waited until Dean was dressed and sitting opposite him with a coffee before saying, "Any time now."

"Sir?" Dean asked.

"You can give me an apology and an explanation for that tantrum of yours, any time now." John answered without even looking at Dean.

John always referred to Sam's protests and complaints as childish temper tantrums that he had no time for. Relaxation exorcise number one, a long slow cleansing breath. Truth, 'use it courageously' the oracle echoed in his head. He wished she would shut up, but if truth could save his family, then backing down at this moment to get along with his dad would be selfish and dangerous. In the immortal words of Sean Connery, 'The Lord hates a coward.'

"I'm sorry I yelled at you dad but I meant every word I said." Dean braved then wondered why he should care what God liked or disliked.

"What the hell kind of apology is that?" John demanded.

"I'm not apologising for what I said, just how loud and angry I was when I said it."

"When did you start wallowing in self-pity?" John asked after a pregnant pause, thinking I don't know this boy.

Dean new he had faults and foibles aplenty but self-pity was one no man on earth could accuse him of. It was a weakness he had little patients for and wouldn't abide in himself. Anger seemed to be overriding the humiliation Dean always felt when so criticised by his father. It was still there but dulled and quiet in comparison. If being honest could save his father it would be a bonus at this point.

"Did you hear anything I said last night?" Dean demanded louder than he wanted to.

"Unfortunately I heard every word." John barked, "God you sound liked Sam with that my sad childhood routine."

When cajoling Dean didn't bring him back in line John resorted to a full scale assault. It was not a technique he enjoyed but one he used from time to time and with great success. John was a firm believer in maintaining order and staying in command in all combat situations and their lives were combat, twenty four seven.

"I'm not Sam, I don't bitch!" Dean fired back, "The point was, I handled serious responsibilities when I was a kid. How does that translate into self-pity?"

John didn't have an answer on the tip of his tongue and Dean didn't give him time to come up with one.

"You wouldn't be sending me on solo hunts if you didn't have SOME confidence in me so I don't think responsibility has a lot to do with this. You just can't give up one inch of control." Dean continued much to his own amazement.

"Clearlake proved you're not up to it!" John landed on him.

"Clearlake was a damned good job." Dean fought back.

"You screwed up!" John roared slamming his hand on the table.

"I did not!" Dean shot back.

No, this wasn't Dean. He questioned from time to time but he didn't argued and never pushed. Something happened since the Burns Junction job. He was insolent, confrontational and defiant which was very much Sam but…. It wasn't Dean.

As the thought echoed in his mind John barked, "Christo."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared back at his father unable to fathom why standing up for himself meant he was possessed. Slowly he reached out and taking a packet of salt he shook it into his mouth and swallowed, then took the silver knife that his father always kept on the table and drew it across the back of his forearm.

"It's me dad." he said with forced calm.

"This is about Sam isn't it? Are you looking for an excuse to join him?" John accused looking for an explanation for this personality change, "You're starting to believe his crap about what a bad father I am."

"I don't need Sam to do my thinking for me?" Dean snapped , "You should be glad I have a mind of my own or Sam and I would have been in deep shit all that time we were on our own."

"Damn it you're not acting like yourself." John snarled hiding fear with aggression, "What the hell is going on with you?"

Okay, his father had a point. He had undergone a few changes in the last few months but were they that profound? Extreme or not John was owed an explanation but what to say. How much to say? The truth is all good and well but Dean wasn't sure what it was. Why were things he'd leaned to accept then so intolerable now? He wanted with all his heart and soul to be able to slip back into his old life, to be the family they once were. Then, now. The title of one of S.E. Hinton's books came to mind. "That Was Then, This Is Now" Perhaps the why was very, very simple. He couldn't live the way he used to because he wasn't who he used to be. Well that made things a little awkward. Dean took a long swallow of his coffee letting the hot bitter liquid warm him inside and calm his nerves. What ever he said he would have to do it slowly and carefully to insure he didn't trip himself up.

"Dad I haven't changed suddenly, it's taken years for me to get here. You just haven't noticed" Dean said and raised his hand when he saw his fathers eyes flare, "I'm good at hiding my feelings and just swallowing whatever upsets me. I knew how much you had to deal with and didn't want to dump my shit on you, but dad it's time you let me grow up. I'm not a sixteen year old kid tailing after my hero and I'm not a private just out of boot waiting to be told where to stand and who to shoot. I can't be that anymore. And you're not being reasonable either. Expecting me to stumble around in the dark and obey blindly then at the right moment be the hero on pure instinct, is just not fair and damned near impossible too.

"In Burns Junction you told me to go in the front and create a diversion while you went in the back and destroyed the amulet. You didn't tell me the amulet had to be melted or that there was a kiln in the kitchen but you practically took my head off for trying to smash it. There was no reason to not tell me what you planned to do. Hell I asked and you just threw that 'do as you're told' at me like I was a kid."

"The kiln door was hanging open it should have been obvious." John snarled growing irritated with his son's complaints, so much like Sam,

"Why would I go looking for the kiln in the corner?" Dean whined in frustration, "I saw you on the floor on the other side of the room and the amulet just out of your reach. My instinct was to smash it with my gun butt not go looking for alternate ways to destroy it. The damned poltergeist freaked when I hit the fucking thing and threw me through a screen door. I needed to know, Dad. Not knowing cost me. If you expect me to do something besides stand around like a mindless toy soldier and yell yes sir, then I need to know everything. I understand you being afraid of giving up control but you have to have faith in me or why did you trust me with your sons?"

John rose in silence to get an other cup of coffee, an obvious stalling tactic, but he needed time to think. In all honesty Dean wasn't wholly wrong but keeping his son in the dark was the safest way to stay in control. That Dean could see that sent a chill up John's spine. But his insights didn't matter. John's way was the tried and proved way to get things done with the least amount of risk and by his side was the safest place for Dean to be. John had to maintain his authority for both their sakes.

"Dean you understand the concept of chain of command." John came out strong.

"I've been talking to a brick wall." Dean snapped then cringed, "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"I've had all the attitude I'm going to take from you." John bellowed.

"Does anything I say matter to you?" Dean demanded, the temper he so feared rising.

"Damn it son you think you've arrived but that fiasco in Clearlake proves you haven't. I'll let you know when you're ready." John decreed from on high.

"That was a great job." Dean fired back, "In less than two weeks I found a spirit who's body was cremated and who was possessing people all over town. Know that's not easy to figure out. And I put it down while I was still crippled. Damn I'm one hell of a hunter."

It had taken over a month the first time. It was a complex jigsaw puzzle with pieces hidden all around. In the first time line it took a week and another body to discover the ectoplasm revealing the presents of spirit possession. The murders all occurring on a Sunday eventually lead them to the church but finding out about the bloody hanky in the silver case hitching a ride in Karen's purse (allowing David to jump into his victims) had been a bitch. Being able to pull it off in two weeks should have made his father suspicious of such an extraordinary achievement. Calling it a fiasco was ludicrous. John's attitude squashed any guilt over lying or taking undeserved credit.

"Who told you, you were any judge of hunters?" John roared charging the table and slamming his fist into it, "Seven jobs and you think you have it all figured out? Well get over yourself boy. You're not half the hunter I am or even half the man."

John couldn't have silenced Dean more effectively if he'd punched him in the face. Dean reeled from the blow his heart stuck in his throat. The urge to retreat, head hung in shame, lasted a long minute before anger overrode injury. Dean slowly rose to his feet pausing to make sure his shaky legs would hold him. He didn't dare look at his father as he went to the bed and started packing his things.

"What are you doing?" John demanded.

In a masterful display of self control Dean answered calmly, "Getting out of here before I say or do something we'll both regret."

"This insubordination ends now! You go out and blow off steam, yes, then you come back here with one hell of an improved attitude!" John went into full drill sergeant mode, "You will never again presume to tell me how to do my job or what you think I owe you. There will be no more whining, and complaining. I expect you to be ready to work, to follow orders and do the job as I see fit. Do I make myself clear!"

Screaming voices that had been silent for so long returned to remind him of how badly he failed, how low Dean had sunk. They returned to haunt him only when facing great emotional distress. He closed his eyes and focused all his will on wrestling the tortured voices back down the well, where he kept all his most painful thoughts and memories. Down, down he pushed them until they were drowned in the murky depths below and he slammed the lid tight over it. Dean's chest rose slowly, carefully as he brought himself under complete control. The trembling stopped, his heart sunk back into place, and the screaming was silenced. He turned, bags in hand, to look into his father's face and found a mask of anger and... Was that a hint of fear? What was he afraid of? It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting away from his father without beating the crap out of him.

"I'll let you know where I am." Dean said making for the door.

John grabbed him by the shoulders spinning him around with such force Dean lost his balance. John thought Dean was old enough, mature enough to respect him without being disciplined but recent behaviour was proving him wrong. John brought the back of his hand across Dean's face knocking him back into the door, banging his head and dropping his bags. John took hold of Dean's jacket and giving him a shake slammed him into the door. There was a point to be made and John would have the boy's complete and undivided attention.

"You will listen to me!" the drill sergeant bellowed.

"Stop it." Dean demanded struggling against his fathers grip strangely immune to his fathers most persuasive arguments.

"Shut up and listen boy!" John screamed in his face banging him against the door once more to punctuate his command.

"STOP!" Dean roared his anger and frustration and shoved John sending him staggering back

Never had Dean needed more than one clout to show him the error of his ways. Sometimes no more than a cuff in the ear was needed. Dean's disrespect and defiance was a serious situation in of itself but, if once wasn't enough to bring him to his senses, matters were worse than John thought. He'd been too lenient, letting Dean question, indulging his arguments. He was their father and he was to be respected at all times. Nothing else would be tolerated. Once this point was made the rest would come with regular dressing downs. John swung with all his might slamming his fist into Dean's face.

Though it was far from a daily event John used physical discipline from time to time, though it was not always clear to Dean what he did to deserve it. There were the times when his screw ups called for it but for the rest he assumed he wasn't doing enough to help his dad. Regardless of the reason when John raised his hand Dean always felt like a complete failure and when it happened in front of others the humiliation was unbearable. As Dean's mouth filled with blood something somewhere deep inside broke releasing a torrent of rage and desperation he didn't know he had. Dean slammed his fist into his father's face with every once of strength the fury gave him. The moment John hit the floor Dean was on his father pulling him to his feet and slamming him into a wall.

The controlled anger was gone from John's face. He stared at his eldest in complete shock and mortification. Dean had no intention of letting his father regain his senses.

Sticking his face in John's, Dean hissed, "Don't you ever hit me again! I will fight back, do you hear me. I'm not taking this anymore."

With a push he let go of his father and charged out the door leaving his bags behind.

* * *

*** For those of you who have not read the graphic novel 'Origins' Dean plans to run away from home because he can't deal with his father hitting him and he thinks if he's gone John will be forced to look after Sam himself. Dean changes his mind after finding and reading John's journal.**

****Another chapter proofed and fussed over. There are no major changes to the plot line.  
**

***** ****Review please .  
**


	6. Chapter 6 Wake Up Call

**I borrowed the Winchester boys again.**

**Thank you for all your wonderful reviews.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

**WAKE UP CALL**

'Summon me' Castiel had said and Dean drove out to an old abandoned barn to do just that. He found the ritual Castiel mentioned in the book of Angels and Demons and was in the process of sanctifying a sacred circle when an unfortunate reality came to him. The Castiel of 2003 didn't know him and even if reading Dean's mind filled him in on their relationship the Angel still wouldn't be the friend he once was. It would take time for the relationship to grow again and more for Castiel to develop any empathy or understanding of human emotions …. if he ever had any. Cass may have been a dedicated soldier for human kind but understanding feelings was never his long suit. There was little chance the Angel, friend or not could help him. Dean searched his mind for anyone who might know what was going or maybe figure it out. In the end only one name came to mind.

"Talk about an act of desperation" Dean muttered to himself.

He made the appropriate changes to the circle and began an Enchian chant to summon the celestial being who's name was in the sacred circle and sanctified by holy water and blood. With in a matter of moments lightening and thunder cracked shaking the dilapidated barn from floor to ceiling and in a flash of blinding light Gabriel, aka the trickster Loki, appeared. Gabriel was smaller and slighter of build than Dean but as he stood his feet planted slightly apart, his hands clenched and glaring his face chiselled stone Dean was grateful the Archangel was at least temporarily confined.

"Take it easy Gabriel. I called you here for help and believe me you want to." Dean braved without ceremony, "It's going to take time for you to brake out of that trap so instead of wasting your energy just read my mind. I'm not the Dean Winchester of 2003. Go on read my mind."

Something indefinable flickered in the Archangel's eyes. Dean caught him off guard. That was a good sign. There was a genuine possibility he could come out of this without suffering the death of a thousand cuts. He was already far to familiar with the practice.

"And what's on your mind that I'm going to find so fascinating." Gabriel asked his tone laden with threat.

"Our history." Dean replied, "History to me, the future to you. Come on, you guy's can tell people are time traveling at a glance. I've seen it done."

Gabriel did take a more studied look and demanded, "Fine you're time traveling. Why is that any business of mine."

"Because you don't want to die?" Dean offered as motive.

"And who has the power to kill me." Gabriel snickered then stopped as he probed Dean's mind.

"That's right, Lucifer." Dean confirmed what Gabriel saw, "You tried to take on you're brother and lost."

"What the hell was I thinking?" Gabriel whaled, "The only one that ever beat Lucifer was Michael."

"You were trying to stand up to you're family for once." Dean gave it to him straight hoping for the same results as the last time around, "Lucifer was going to kill everyone on this planet and you didn't want to loose your home."

"You're pretty sure of you're self there pal." Gabriel grinned wickedly.

"Of course I'm sure, I lived it. I saw you do it. Hell you were the one that made it possible for us to put the devil back in his cage." Dean struggled to reach him.

"And how did I do that. By letting my brother kill me while you guys snuck up on him?" Gabriel said his wicked grin turning evil.

The Archangel was a fast worker. The name in the circle was fading fast. He was almost out, there wasn't a lot of time. Dean had to make one damned good last pitch.

"By telling us about the horseman's rings opening the cage. You son of a bitch, read my mind. You know I'm telling the truth. I was sent back to stop it. You don't want to die so help me."

As they argued Gabriel's name written in Dean's blood had faded till it was a faint outline. He'd be out in a matter of seconds. If Dean was very unlucky Gabriel might decide to save himself by getting rid of the righteous man who starts the ball rolling. It wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

"Fine go ahead kill me. God will just resurrect me again, or maybe Michael or Zachariah." Dean challenged him spreading his arms out like Sam had when he began to fall, "They can't have their apocalypse without Michael's one true vessel. Gabriel, God wants it stopped so help me."

Dean waited while Gabriel seethed. The air around him began to snap, crackle and spark as the name in blood rose and disappeared like a stain washing out of the concrete. The Archangel was free and Dean just stood there. With blinding speed Gabriel had Dean by the throat, held up against a wall, six inches off the floor. Eyes filled with rage bored into his mind and sole leaving Dean feeling violated. Just moments before he blacked out Gabriel dropped him and turned away. Not wanting to push his luck Dean stayed on the floor waiting for a clue, something to tell him what his next move was.

"Dad just takes off, doesn't leave any orders, doesn't tell us what he wants he's just gone. Then along comes the apocalypse and he talks to you?"

"It didn't just come along. It was a carefully executed plan." Dean snapped drawing a scowl from Gabriel but as the runaway Archangel turned to face Dean he climbed to his feet returning the angry glare, "One Angel stood up to them, one. A righteous dude named Castiel. He was the one God talked to."

Taking a moment to sort through the bits and pieces of memory he took from Dean, Gabriel caught a brief glimpse of a classic car, a star lit night at heaven's door and an intimate exchange. How was it that the captain of a small garrison was so favoured. How did one know the mind of God? Gabriel opened his lungs and released a resounding roar that shook the old barn bringing dirt and debris down from the rafters. The angry Angel thundered till some of his fury was spent. Dean let him stand there quiet, ….. for a few minutes.

"Feel good to get it out of your system?" He asked.

"If you're going to be my new best friend then you'd better learn when to shut up." Gabriel warned.

"Dude we were not friends." Dean chuckled, "We were on the same side."

In the middle of the barn elaborate furnishing for a sitting room appeared consisting of two settees, with all the accompanying regalia which included and a long coffee table laden with sweets. Gabriel made himself comfortable with a glass of Champaign while popping treats into his mouth. Dean didn't hesitate to stretch out on the other and take a glass of bubbly while helping himself to a few of the snacks. He looked at the glass and thought carbonated Kool-Aid

"So you chuckle heads are going do it." Gabriel guffawed, "I got to hear about this."

"You're brothers make sure of it." Dean growled, "But that's not why I called you."

"I don't care why you called me! All I get out of you're head is snap shots, a montage of events. The whole story now." Gabriel ordered then grinned, "Or find out what it's like to die slowly a thousand times."

A sad smile played at Dean's lips as he answered, "Been there, done that."

Gabriel glared. He new Dean wasn't lying but then that really wasn't the point.

"Fine. With some help from you, me, Sam, Bobby and Castiel put Lucifer back in his box." Dean delivered a highly abridged version of what happened but Gabriel's eyes continued to bore into him, so he sighed and went on, "We tried to set him up using the horseman's rings to open the cage. Sam was supposed to let Lucifer in and take control then jump into the cage but your brother won the first round. When Lui started beating me to death, Sam took control reopened the cage and jumped in."

"Trust Lucifer for a bone head play like that." Gabriel laughed, "He should have got as far away from you as possible."

"He did, but I followed them to Skull Cemetery."

"Wait wasn't Michael supposed to be wearing you?" Gabriel saw a glitch in the story, "Who's Adam?"

In as few words as possible Dean laid out Zachariah's plan to force him to say yes, including the failed attempt to use Adam as leverage. He explained how Michael exploited the younger Winchester as a last resort. He went into more detail about the confrontation in Skull Cemetery but when he came to the part where God resurrected Castiel, Gabriel called a halt.

"God resurrected Castiel?"

"Yah, again."

"Again?" Gabriel almost squeaked.

"The first time was after Rafael blow him to pieces and again when Lucifer did it."

Gabriel sat up and stared into Dean's eyes then sat back shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked unsure.

"Joshua's the only one that hears from Dad in millennia. But he resurrects Castiel twice after he rebels and has a chat with him." Gabriel wailed in frustration, "Do you know how much sense that doesn't make?"

"I figure Cass was trying to do the right thing so God cut him a brake."

"What makes you think you know anything about God?" Gabriel sat up again and glared.

"Know him, hell I can't stand the son of a bitch but he did give Cass a message for me." Dean answered with hostility.

Suddenly Gabriel was across the table lifting Dean by the throat and hissing in his face, "Watch how you talk about my father!" then tossed him back onto the settee, "Details, how did you end up here?"

"All you Angels are such dicks." He grumbled then cleared his throat and began to drone, "I went to an oracle in Andover to find out what was happening with Sam and she sent me back here. But in mid journey Cass pops in with a message from God."

Annoying little bug. Gabriel simmered in silence as images of a conversation in a empty warehouse, flashed in his mind, snippets of an exchange in the back of a car. He was annoying back then too.

"What was the message?" Gabriel snapped.

Dean didn't need to use recall exorcises. It was something he would never forget.

"_Consider what it means to be the product of a breading program that spans millennia__._

_ You have abilities of mind and body you have not realized but can with faith.__Do not fear who you are or what you will become for there is nothing in you to fear or be ashamed of._

_ Believe in yourself as I do and you will be victorious. You are Jedi a title you richly deserve." _

He recited word for word, "I don't really get it but that's exactly what he said. The more I think abut it the more it scares me. What will I become?"

"How the hell should I know. Dad hasn't talked to me in thousands of years." Gabriel answered rolling his eyes.

"Gabriel I have all this anger but I don't know where it's coming from. I thought it was this memory recall thing I got from a book the Elil Gideon. But I don't get mad over childhood shit. I hit my dad. I never hit my dad. I'm supposed to be stopping Lucifer's rise. How can I do that if I can't even control myself."

"Do not fear what you become. Dad doesn't say anything without a reason." Gabriel mussed after assuring Dean none of the exorcises would have such a profound effect on him, "Something happened He thought would scare you."

Dean's eyes grew wide with horror, "I'm an idiot."

"You expect me to argue?" Gabriel snipped.

"Lucifer cursed me." Dean groaned suddenly in pain, "He appeared in the oracles temple and cursed me."

Gabriel's grin vanished, "Well that's something."

"How could he get there when he was supposed to be in the cage?" Dean grumbled.

"He wasn't there he was just reaching out and touching someone." Gabriel answered throwing Dean a dah face, "An oracle sanctuary is the only place on earth or anywhere that he can reach, like being on line. He can communicate, influence, even curse without getting out of the cage. Word for word Dean!"

"_Arise all aberrations and defects, impurities and corruption of body and spirit. The beast that is your true nature, awaken. In this befouled state you will be trapped in a war you can never win till I walk this earth again." _

Dean recited as ordered.

After a long contemplative silence that Dean found hard to bear Gabriel snorted and laughed, "How did he come up with a dumb ass curse like that?"

"Excuse me?"

"He awakens the beast that is your true nature he probably thinks you'll become a monster." Gabriel laughed again, "He's going to bring it out in you faster then the codex could."

"Bring what?" Dean demanded his patients growing thin as his anxiety levels rose.

"You're the great breading program, the pure bloodline." Gabriel continued to laugh, thoroughly enjoying his brothers folly, "You humans haven't been all you can be since you were thrown out of the garden. People like the Gideon tapped into some of those talents but it took them years of training to do it. Lucifer's curse is a short cut to everything hidden inside you. Unfortunately that's all the bad with the good. Anything and everything in you is going to rise."

There it was again. When Dean first came back from Hell the screaming was a constant companion whether it was loud in his ears or quiet in the back of his mind. He had it under control for the longest time but the well wasn't a perfect solution and they escaped from time to time. Dean had no time for past suffering and speedily stuffed them back in the well.

"Bad, how?" He gulped, "How bad can it get?"

"All this anger you were talking about. Been storing it up for a while?" Gabriel asked.

"Eh." Dean shrugged trying to be blasé.

"Got issues you've been carrying around?" Gabriel nudged.

"Who doesn't?" Dean asked growing more nervous.

Gabriel suddenly reached across the table knocking sweets to the floor and grabbed Dean staring deep into his eyes. Gabriel heard something that could only come from one place. A nightmare no human could dream up. Gabriel dropped him back on the settee then lay back a mild look of disgust on his face.

"They used you to brake the first seal." Gabriel laughed without humour, "Is that what's got you all worked up. YOU BROKE? Tell me you're not stupid enough to you think anybody on earth wouldn't? Nobody, and I do mean, noooooo body could have taken it. What makes you think you should have? Cause you're so special? What have you got that's so much more than everybody else?"

"Not everybody who goes down there gets their humanity ripped out of them." Dean grumbled at Gabriel, "A quarter of a million years of people going to hell? We'd be knee deep in demons, hundreds of millions."

"You think everyone gets the offer you did?" Gabriel asked with a loud hah, "The demon 500 club is very exclusive. Most go down there and it's the rack or something like if for eternity."

"Eternity on the rack, son of a bitch." Dean breathed, it staggered the mind but then that's exactly what he thought he was facing.

"Thirty years, that's got to be a record. Get over it dumb ass." Gabriel barked with a role of the eyes, "Or are you supposed to be so much better than the rest of your species."

"I never said that." Dean snarled his temper starting to show, "Can we drop this. We've got bigger problems. I'm blowing up at my dad over stupid little shit, and I don't know why. I don't know where it's coming from. You want to survive this time give me a hand cause I can't save anyone or anything if I can't even control myself."

"This is coming from inside you. Whatever you've been burying, even the shit you've been lying to yourself about no especially that shit." Gabriel said holding Dean's eyes making sure he was getting every word, "You human's have a real gift for lying to yourselves but not you, not anymore. You're laying into you're dad because you figure he's got it coming.

Though there was still humour in his face, that touch of Loki that never left him, the dominate presents that sat before Dean was the Archangel, all business.

"The fate of the world in this guy's hands? Buddy it is over." Gabriel cried to the cracks in the barn roof.

"If that's true then you're dead and God was wrong." Dean roared on dangerous impulse, "So why did he? What does he expect from me? You're one of the Angels that's seen him so what is this? Just because I'm Michael's true vessel isn't reason enough."

After a long silent glare Gabriel answered, "It's the best reason. You're Michael's true vessel, You're a human version of the most trusted Angel in heaven.

"I'm a human version of the dick that went out of his way to kill his brother and destroy half the world in the bargain. This is supposed to make me feel better?"

"And you're brother's Lucifer but instead of having a tantrum he condemned himself to save the world. I guess it's not just what you have but what you do with it that makes the difference?"

"My brother may have a dark side but he's not evil." Dean missed the point.

"What the hell are you calling evil. You don't know a damned thing about it. Gabriel roared his temper shaking the barn, threatening to bring it down around them.

"So explain it to me?" Dean demanded roaring himself.

After a long quiet rumble Gabriel began, "Lucifer was this bright shining star that everybody loved, especially Michael and dad." As Gabriel began his story his fantastically animated face gave emotion and depth to his every word, "One day dad brings home a new baby and everybody goes cutchie, cutchie. Except Lucifer. He wants to get rid of it. Daddy says no we're all going to love this new little bundle of joy. And Lucifer no longer the center of everybody's world has a fit. What you call evil, I call an infantile temper tantrum!"

"Temper tantrum?" Dean rasps incredulously, "Your brother isn't trying to smash a Tonka toy. It 's a planet with six billion people on it." Gabriel's eye's narrowed , but it was the memory of intense blue eyes, tousled hair and a shabby trench coat that prompted Dean to add, "You had another brother who died twice for those people and you were pretty heroic yourself, so can we not do this."

Gabriel began to chuckle then threw back his head and screamed at the holes in the barn roof, "Families, were invented to make us crazyyyyyyyyyyyy!" then groan and emptied a full glass that promptly filled again as it did every time, he shrugged , tossed it away and a highball glass of single malt scotch appeared, "Every once in a while I just have to fry a few brain cells."

"I do it on a daily basis would you mind?" Dean held up his flute and it was replaced by three fingers of scotch, "To destroying brain cells and your liver." Dean added.

"And your liver." Gabriel agreed, "Not that, that means a damned thing to me but you're committing suicide."

Dean gave him a sideways glance and asked, "Promise?"

Gabriel stared back in silence.

"Fine." Dean shrugged it off, "So about this anger shit. How do I do the noble thing if I'm blowing my stack over ridicules old shit? Any idea's?"

"Read my codex."

"Again?" Dean asked eyebrows arched.

"The codex of the Elil Gideon." Gabriel huffed as if it should have been obvious, "Some of my best stuff is in it."

"You wrote that?" Dean was stymied.

"It was my first big project after the plagues of Egypt." Gabriel answered with a big grin, "Now that was fun."

"The plagues, that was you?" Dean asked impressed.

"Ten plagues, one Angel no waiting"

"Then you wrote a book?" He found that anti climatic.

"I created the Gideon and wrote their codex, chuckle head." Gabriel sniffed at him, "There's stuff in it about self awareness, deductive reasoning, controlling your new abilities and that includes feeeeeelings. I wrote it for you guys."

"For us, who us? Where are they." Dean asked hopefully.

"There are no Jedi left. Long story and I'm bored." He paused giving Dean a disgusted look. "I don't know why dad would trust you to rewrite history but if you're going head to head with Michael and Lucifer you'd better get your shit together." Gabriel said tossing back another full glass, "He wasn't wrong Dean he's never wrong so…"

"Get over it?" Dean asked.

"Go with it. That's as far as I'll take sentimentality."

"Yah, me too." Dean admitted uncomfortable, "And Gabriel, I already went head to head with them and I was the one left standing."

"In which case he wasn't wrong was he." Gabriel shook his head trying to figure out how this human could pull it off.

Gabriel would be keeping an even closer eye on this Winchester than he had in the past. He saw in Dean's mind something he didn't like and never conceived possible. He was telling the truth his life was on the line and that was a part of history that would not be repeated Gabriel snapped his figures and disappeared taking all his creations with him, leaving Dean to fall on his ass in the dirt. 'You dick.' he yelled at the Archangel then quickly forgot about it. He wasn't feeling any pain anyway. Dean strolled over to the Impala to curl up in the back seat with the Elil Gideon. It was late afternoon, plenty of time for study. He reached under the seat, pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and took a long swallow.

"To fried brain cells." He saluted the book.

Dean stopped to pick up breakfast on his way back to the motel. It was something he would have done if he stayed out to party. John liked cinnamon raisin toast so Dean bought a loaf and butter to make it fresh. He hoped his father saw it as a peace offering not capitulation. John was out cold with a bottle of tequila by the bed . He had spent the rest of yesterday reading the Elil Gideon, or Codex as Gabriel called it, looking for anger management techniques. Most of them involved muscle relaxation, controlled breathing and imagery. All methods of treating the symptoms rather than the cause which Dean would settle for. The first two he understood very well having had thirty years practice but the third he had only just begun to experiment with.

Dean let the hot water wash away the sticky grubby feeling one always had after sleeping in their cloths. The penetrating damp heat soothed away the ache from the cramped muscles he acquired falling asleep while reading. He would have liked to stay there longer to relax the anger out of his body but a cold shower wouldn't do his father's dispassion any good. He turned off the water, dried and dressed himself. It was time. Into the lion's den. John was still snoring on the bed.

The coffee was finished dripping and the toast was easy to make. Dean sat at the table with a cup and tall plate of toast. He began looking through the research, busying his mind with the job and wondering if he would come to the same conclusions as his father. No matter what animosity any hunter felt toward John no one would deny his skill not only in killing monsters but finding them. He had a gift part of which sprang from pure dogged determination and partly from an uncanny ability to see connections between what appears to be random events. Dean had some skill in finding connections himself in part due to an understanding of behaviour. Dean had hours to work on it before John finely stirred.

"You're back." John muttered straining to see Dean threw blood shot eyes.

"Of course." Dean answered without looking up, "You've got my cloths."

"Always the smart ass." John huffed not at all amused.

"That will never change." Dean grinned, he wasn't screaming, a good sign.

John gingerly pulled himself to his feet and slowly shuffled over to the coffee. He poured himself one without taking his eyes off Dean for more than a minute. It was clear he was as uncertain of his son as Dean was of him.

"Would you like me to make you some toast?" Dean offered.

"No I'll do it." John answered which translated into, I need some time.

John stayed at the counter making toast and watched. Dean put the papers down and stared at them with quiet contemplation then jotted down notes. He shifted the paper studying one and then the other till coming to a conclusion and set the hard copy down in favour of his notebook.

"It's there." John finely said while eating his toast, "We just have to find it. There's always a connection."

"Oh I know I just don't think we're going to find it there."

"Why?"

"Well you didn't see it and now I'm not getting so much as a hint." Dean answered with a causal air , "I just think we're going to have to dig a little deeper."

John stayed at the counter as Dean ran search after search stopping on occasion to make a note on one profile or another. John made his way through a second stack of toast before Dean finely looked up and made deliberate eye contact.

"Are you trying to figure out what your looking at or are you just keeping a safe distance?" Dean asked.

"A little of both." John answered easily, "You have no intention of apologising, do you."

"Do you?" Dean asked.

"For what?" John asked.

Dean stared at his father a moment before returning his attention to the screen. They both remained silent for a time till John decided he was tired of standing and took a seat at the table. Still Dean did not look at him. He new John was a stubborn man who could dig in better than anyone, with the possible exception of Sam, if he new what he was being stubborn about but Dean wasn't saying.

"Are you going to answer me some time this month.?" John growled.

"Dad did you really think you could keep knocking me around for the rest of my life and I wouldn't fight back ?" Dean made eye contact again, "You've been hitting me since I was a kid. I used to think about running away but then I thought if I helped you enough some day you'd stop. Well it doesn't matter anymore. I'm big enough to fight back now and I will."

"Dean you were acting crazy." John tried to justify his actions.

"No, you just didn't like what I was doing." Dean countered.

"You have been erratic for months." John growled, "If I didn't know better I'd think you were a doppelganger or a shape shifter."

Dean held up his forearm, "No such luck." He glared, "Face it dad I've grown up. I'm sorry you don't like the man I've become. I never wanted to disappoint you or hurt you but I just can't be what you want me to be. Try to understand cause I'm not going to let you smack me around any more."

John rose from the table to pour himself another cup of coffee. Something John never doubted was Dean's fidelity. It was in everything he did. Dean wore his love and respect on his sleeve and John had always put a vast measure of faith in that devotion, which brought him some peace of mind. John didn't think the circumstances existed that could make Dean raise a hand to him. Well so much for that illusion. John realised he would have to accept that he was no longer the voice of God in Dean's world, but where did that leave him? Dean was still a vital part of his life and he had to maintain control of some part of his it. So much of it wasn't.

"Alright Dean maybe I do have to start looking at you as a grown man." John made the first move.

"Thank you." Dean returned truly grateful, but when John stayed where he was Dean knew more was to come.

"But I am still your father and I expect you to show proper respect." John growled.

Ah the axe falls. How to save, this '_Please dad understand_,' Dean prayed to any God who would listen, '_Someone please help me make him understand.' _Dean rose and faced his father and holding on to the fact that his father loved him he found the courage to stand tall and dare much.

"Dad I have always respected you, and looked up to you." Dean assured him in all sincerity, "But it's not the blind faith I had when I was a kid. My eyes are wide open and you still have my respect. Isn't that better. I know you better than anybody and I still feel the same. Isn't that better?"

Sure John thought, damned uncomfortable, even a little scary but strangely comforting. But there was a catch, the proverbial, accursed catch.

"Sounds great Dean accept you're not predictable. How can I count on you to do a job if I don't know what you're going to do?" John voiced his concern, "I need to know that when I tell you to do something you'll do it not think it over and decide to do something else."

"When have I ever done that?" Dean demanded his frustration levels rising, "In all the years you've taken me hunting have I ever disobeyed you?"

"Till the past few months you've been doing what you're told but I can't trust you to do that anymore." John answered his tone laden with accusation.

"Because I ask questions?" Dean asked astounded by his father, "Because I want to know what you're doing, what you're thinking? Because I want you to teach me what you know?"

"I taught you everything you know." John declared.

"But you haven't taught me half of what you know." Dean returned.

"Who are you?" John whispered completely unnerved by his powerful insight and uncharacteristic candour.

"The son you never knew you had." Dean answered with such quiet resignation it hurt to see.

Dean rose from the table and grabbed his coat bringing John to his feet.

"I think we may be dealing with a victim of child abuse or sexual abuse. I'm going to see if I can dig up more information about the victims." Dean explained his actions, "I'll dig around in the dirt see what I come up with."

"Child abuse?" John asked startled and looked down at Dean's notes.

"Other than the church choir they have nothing in common, except these complaints." Dean explained his suppositions.

"But this is only three of them. One sexual abuse with drawn, and two investigations of child abuse no convictions. That's a bit of a leap." John voiced his doubts

"True." Dean didn't disagree, "On the other hand you know that child abuse and sexual abuse of children goes unreported all the time and a nine year old kid who was a member of the children's choir died falling down the steps of the rectory. What if he fell running from the choir master at that time a priest Father Timothy Bertram. Or maybe he was pushed or thrown to keep him from telling his parents what happened to him. These guys are all getting their necks snapped in that area and that's where the EMF was active. "

"That's pretty damned thin Dean." John remained sceptical.

"Dad it's anorexic, but it's all we got." Dean didn't disagree.

"It is an idea." John admitted.

As uneasy as it made John to think of Dean pulling away, acting on his own, there was no denying the boy had seen something he didn't and the big boyish grin on his face when John acknowledged it suggested he wasn't as grown up as he believed. Or maybe he had grown up but not grown away. Maybe adult Dean wasn't as dangerous as John feared. He would have to give it a lot of thought. If only he could trust Dean to be where he was supposed to be and not off chasing some hair brained notion of his own possibly killing them both.

Any resentment Dean harboured against his father's lack of trust vanished as he charged out the door to prove or disprove his theory. It didn't matter if he was right or not, only that his father considered the possibility. Dad listened and recognised his idea's, considered them attention worthy. Maybe some day John might even see him as something other than a foot soldier. He new how ridicules he was to still crave his fathers approval. _'God I'm so pathetic'_ but at least he stood up for himself. It was a step in the right direction, ….. wasn't it?

Dean beamed with pride and pleasure as further investigation revealed that two more of the victims may have committed crimes against children. The most telling was the secretary of the most recently dispatched choirmaster mentioning how she couldn't understand how someone with his reputation with children was allowed anywhere near them, music teacher or not. By the fifth shot she suggested he was killed by "Some poor kid's outraged father'. The pattern held and John didn't deny him the credit for it.

It was a tough one. It always is when children are involved. The nightmare erupted in the church cemetery when they confronted little Jimmy Hollister at his grave. He went after John accusing him of child abuse calling him a monster and a few other names one wouldn't expect a boy his age to know. Dean never dug so hard and so fast in all his life. By the time the little boy's bones were ablaze John had bruises down one side of his back and a badly sprained wrist, from being thrown around. John looked at his son a strange expression on his face as Dean rapped his wrist.

"That should do it." Dean finished, "I'll get you some ice."

"Dean?" John stopped him.

"Yah, dad?

"Do you consider yourself an abused child?" John committed the unthinkable and broke the silence

"Dad you weren't beating me once a week. In fact you never beat me." Dean shrugged off the uncomfortable subject and began looking for somewhere to run.

"A spirit of vengeance will only attack someone who fit's the profile. They won't do anything else, they can't. It's part of what they are. " John said to himself as much as to Dean, "If I wasn't a child abuser he couldn't come after me."

"Dad, we were threatening him." Dean countered the argument, "They do protect themselves."

"I've been saying that to myself since the cemetery." John admitted his voice quiet and filled with grief, "And we both know that's not what he was doing. He was protecting you. He said it Dean. Spirits don't lie."

"Spirits only see black and white. People are shades of gray." Dean tried again, "You're shades of grey dad."

"Does that make me innocent, son?" John asked to see if Dean would exonerate him, lie to him.

"It makes you human." Dean offered instead, "It'll be okay, believe me, it's okay."

"It's okay", how often had he heard those words just when he needed them most.

"Dean why don't you go out and have a good time." John came to his feet and gave Dean a slap on the back, "You've earned it, Ace."

"Okay dad." Dean agreed frantic to get out of the

room.

Sam's feet were six inches off the ground when he returned to Stanford after March break. He never new love could be so wonderful but then he didn't know there were women in the world like Jessica. So bright so funny so full of joy, she was the brightest star in his universe. Loves first blush it was called but Sam believed he'd been falling in love with her for some time. It didn't matter when it happened. All that mattered now was he couldn't go through the day without seeing her at least once. They weren't back a week and they had a steady lunch date at the Petit Café on campus. It was a lunch counter disguised as a French café with little rod iron tables covered in mocha table cloths and candles filled with the aroma of espresso. The perfect spot to luncheon with the woman of your dreams. I didn't matter that it served little more soup and sandwiches with a large salad bar. For Jessica Sam would learn to eat salads.

Sam strolled into his room after another successful day of studies and the perfect lunch with his girlfriend. He had everything to cheer about. Even this obnoxious Legends and Folklore Professor was willing to admit Sam had a clear grasp of the material even if they did disagree on many points. He was going to do it yet again. He was maintaining his perfect 4.0. Life just couldn't get any better.

Sam dropped his books on his desk to settle in for a few hours study. He had a date with Jessica that Saturday and he didn't want anything hanging over him on the weekend. Professors love to dump a lot on of work on their students after the spring brake but Sam had it covered. He arranged his papers and study books for his Physic class when he spotted the letter that arrived before he left for Mexico. Sam couldn't remember any one from Sutherland, Nebraska. With a sigh and a degree of trepidation Sam opened the strange piece of mail.

* * *

March 7th 2003

Dean Sammy;

Let me guess, you didn't believe me and you're seeing Jessica Moore. Tell me is Brady into the scene yet? I know he is and I know I was right about Jessica. Did you or are you going to Mexico

with her? Bad decision dude. You're on top of the world now but it will end bloody. For her sake, stay away from her and for your sake, stay away from Brady. And for God's sake, call me.

March 19th- America and a coalition of other country's launch an attach on Iraq to seize weapons of mass destruction. The war will be short and the occupation ugly. No weapons of mass

destruction will be found. Bagdad falls April 9th .

April 30th- War officially ends. Over 9,000 Iraqi military died, over 7,000 Iraqi civilian losses and 139 American casualties.

President Barack Obama begins troop withdrawals in 2007, 50,000 troupes are left as an occupying force.

Check it out dude and call me. I'm not trying to hurt you or ruin your nice new life. I'm trying to save you from a lot of pain and that nice girl from an ugly death.

Dean.

* * *

'I'll kill him Sam seethed. Dean's a jerk, he was born a jerk and will die a jerk. There was no other way to describe him. Was it jealousy or was HE like dad. Their way was the only way.' Sam ripped up the letter and threw it in the garbage resolving not to think about it again. An hour later the damned letter still lingered in his mind and his Physic paper was barely started. Sam was going to kill Dean if he ever saw him again and he'd better not. He picked up his phone several times but couldn't think of anything nasty enough to say. Standing and stretching, Sam decided he needed coffee. A cup of coffee and something to munch on would help him get in the mood. The vending machine in the common room had coffee that was tolerable. As he passed the sitting area were a small group of people were watching TV he noticed they were watching something about a war. Something tickled his stomach and made him twitch. Probably something about the Gaza strip, that's all it is. But try as he may Sam could not force himself to walk on by. He stopped to see what military action was being reported. A correspondent was describing the latest advances of the coalition forces in Iraq. Sam's heart logged in is throat making it hard to breath. He stood very still staring at the screen trying to make sense of what he was seeing. How could Dean have possibly known. He couldn't care less about what was going on, on the other side of the world. How could he predict the war. Sam crossed to the sofa's and asked if anyone knew the exact date the war began.

"Over March brake." one answered.

"Nineteenth, my brother shipped out for it." said another, "He's been expecting it for a while but nobody knew when."

Sam raced up the stairs to his room and taped the letter back together again. The date on the post mark was March 8th. They hadn't settled on going to Mexico City for three more day's.

"No Dean you can't do this to me, please." He begged as he gathered up the pieces and sorted them out like a jig saw puzzle, "Don't Dean, you can't."

March 19th America and a coalition of other country's launch an attach on Iraq to …..

The nineteenth, no how could he be right?

First blush, it never lasts. John Winchester simply could not work with anyone on a equal basis. Given time he falls back on old ways, but it wasn't as bad as it once was. At least when Dean asked a question and John would bark, "You don't need to know, or because I say so" it didn't take more than "I need to know dad." before John albeit begrudging and accompanied by hard feeling, was coming across with the information. As John saw it Dean didn't trust him anymore. Regardless of his protests to the contrary, Dean was loosing faith in him, loosing respect for him. The fact that Dean seemed satisfied with the brief explanations wasn't evidence enough of his son's loyalty and regard. The arguments had dwindled to a minimum but tension was on the rise and Dean was not pleased. But they still had their moments, playing pool or darts and having a few beer. They still joked and laughed together and as long they had that Dean would not loose faith.

**March 27****th****Glenwood, Colorado**

It was the wee hours of the morn when they arrived in Glenwood. Not a word was exchanged between them as they both crashed for a few hours sleep. There wasn't anything they could do about the job that night and they both had a tendency to be up at the crack of dawn anyway. John was in the habit of living on four hours of sleep a night but finding Dean doing it was another strange change in behaviour that troubled him. That and the booze. Drinking was something he had never intended to teach either of his sons. Dean passed the silver test, the salt test, the Christo test, and even the holy water in the beer test. There was no getting away from the fact that it was Dean yet it wasn't and this new manifestation of him grated on John's nerves with his propensity for independence, and his need to know. Dean complicated what used to be a comfortable easy process. His demands took time and effort to deal with, taxing John's patients and expending energies better spent on the hunt. Having Dean completely informed also ran the risk of him making decisions on his own and ruining the plan. That was the part that upset John the most. When soldiers didn't follow orders, when they presumed to think on their own, battle plans fell apart , the good guys lost and people died. John ached for the soldier that joyfully obeyed his every command and made himself scarce when he wasn't needed. He could send Dean on any errand in absolute confidence that the task would be expeditiously and flawlessly completed. Then, Dean looked up to him with blind faith and needed no more than a little time to chase girls, to be happy. These added worries were just too personally taxing, too time consuming and left too much room for error. But how to reign in this new found self-confidence and get back on track? That was the question.

This new job was complex. Blood sacrifice bespoke of a witches coven and not just some Saturday afternoon witches either or it could also be demonic. Either way it could be dangerous and he didn't need to be distracted with family problems. Research into the history of the victims suggested they were random sacrifices which alluded to a demon but the symbols carved into the victims bespoke of a summoning which pointed to witches. Damn John needed all his energies, he didn't need distractions. Damn he needed his dinner. The Impala engine pulled in and stopped five minutes ago, where was Dean? He came bursting in the door, and began packing minutes before John planned to march out to the car and demand an explanation. John wanted an explanation for this too.

"I just got off the phone with Sam." Dean didn't wait for John to ask, "He's really upset."

"What's wrong." John demanded jumping up to pack.

"I don't exactly know, something to do with a girl and a major dick of a friend who used to be his best friend." Dean answered paused a moment and added, "There's something about and obnoxious professor and somebody's brother didn't know something."

"You are bugging out to go give Sammy a hug?" John barked in disbelief.

Dean stopped in mid pack to groan at his father. He should have known nothing less than a demon attack would be reason enough to run to his son's rescue. Hell internal haemorrhaging wouldn't do it. Dean on his death bed didn't do it. Why should a simple, I need you, have any impact on him? His father was a walking contradiction. Temper, temper so many years of disappointment and anger trying to brake his self-control. Dean reined in the hostility, besides his father didn't really deserve it. Well maybe a little.

"This may mean nothing to you but I'm not you." Dean said successfully pulling himself back from an outburst, "I've always been there for Sam no matter how big or small the problem and I always will be."

"He left us Dean, he ran out on his family. He has no right to expect anything from us and we owe him nothing." John decreed with every ounce of rage Sam's betrayal caused.

No Dean told himself. Don't say it. Don't do it. It doesn't matter anymore and it won't do any good. What was done, could not be changed, and whining about it now would just make him petty and vindictive.

"You're fight with Sam has nothing to do with me." Dean returned maintaining control, "I believe what you taught us about family being the only people you can count on. I'm Sam's family and he will always be able to count on me."

"HE abandoned his us. It was his choice." John roared, "He can damned well live with the consequences. There are people dieing here Dean, our duty is to them."

"There are always people dieing." Dean fired back as he returned to his packing.

"He can't have it both ways. I forbid it." John ordered.

"Neither can you, dad." Dean continued a little quieter , "You can't teach me there's nothing more important than family then expect me to turn my back on my brother because you two are fighting. I'll always be there when my family needs me."

"You're turning your back on me." John accused him.

"You don't need me." Dean countered and marched out the door.

* * *

**Another chapter fixed up and proofed. Tell me if the chapters are far to long. This one is one of the longest. Would you have preferred it shorter? Please help me here folks, how can I improve this story? I think I should have asked that quistion at the end of an earlier chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7 Nightmare At Stanford

*****I have Sam and Dean on loan again**.**

******For those of you who think I'm Sammy bashing I ask you to consider that all Sam's hopes and dreams are being destroyed by Dean and he's not going to give them up easily. Would you? Also remember that Dean's reactions to Sam are in part do to his inability to control his anger. Also is attempting to follow the oracle's advise but being uncomfortable when dealing with feelings he's clumsy. Finely Sam's only twenty and as with many his ages is going through a self-righteous and egocentric phase. It's all a part of growing up. Please remember he did not start out with the faith in Dean he had in the end and he must go through changes to become the heroic figure that fell into the pit. Have faith, you will see the Sam we all know and love very soon.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

**NIGHTMARE AT STANFORD**

Dean was twelve hours away. It would be early dawn before he arrived. There was nothing for Sam to do but curl up with his pillow and wait. He stared at the window which looked out onto the street and thought if he pushed his bed up under it, he could watch for his brother. Now, that would make him a complete juvenile. This aching need to see Dean was a new experience for Sam. He loved being away from his family, and was happiest on this own. He never wished them back. Not one of Dean's visits ever brought Sam any pleasure and was happy to see his pain in the ass brother go. Now he lay on his bed watching, waiting, praying that Dean will make the Impala fly. Praying he would bring with him an explanation that would free Sam from the supernatural and put his life back in the range of normal.

Sam woke as the first rays of dawn pierced the thin curtains of the dorm window. He looked out it anxious. The Impala engines should have disturbed him, what happened to Dean? Damn, Chad closed the window muffling the engines but there was the big black steed parked in front of the dorm. He'd have a chat with Chad later. Sam grabbed a clean shirt and shoes and raced down the steps. In rushing to meet Dean Sam felt like a frightened kid racing to big brother to make everything right. Something Sam hated doing when he was fourteen. At twenty it was degrading but the stakes were too high to let his pride get in the way of the only help out there. Besides it was probably all Dean's fault in which case landing on him would bring Sam a great deal of satisfaction as he kicked Dean's ass out of Palo Alto.

sssssss

Dean was pulled from his light slumber by frantic raping on a window. He forced his heavy eyelids open to find Sam looking anxiously calling his name and glancing around at the empty street. The kid looked wrecked, with dark rimmed eyes, bed hair, and a scruffy face. It was heart breaking really, reminiscent of when Jessica died. Dean climbed back into the front seat and unlocked the passenger door.

The minute Sam opened the door Dean smiled telling him, "You're buying breakfast."

"You have to stop this." Sam panted jumping in the car.

"Nice to see you to Sammy, you're looking awful by the way."

"Dean!" Sam barked.

"What?" Dean barked back, "What exactly am I supposed to stop?"

"What ever is happening here." Sam insisted, "You were right on about the war, you were right about Brady screwing up his life. Now I'm scared to death Jessica's going to die. You have to stop."

"Sam admitted I was right. I'm declaring a national holiday."

"Dean!" Sam whined

"I'm not doing anything." Dean groaned, "This isn't about me it's about you."

"I'm not hunting. I'm not threatening anyone." Sam fired back with a growl in his voice. "So why me, it doesn't make sense. It has to be you."

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a diner just off campus and turned to face Sam. All humour vanished as his youthful features took on a hard edge Sam had never seen before and his eyes were filled with a painful knowledge that only served to unsettle Sam more.

"I just passed on some information I had from an impeccable source." Dean spoke in quiet even tones, "There is nothing I can do to fix it or make it go away and there is nowhere you can run or hide from it. You got that little brother."

"No, I don't accept that. I'm not part of your world anymore and I won't be dragged into it." Sam clung to his original plan, "I'm not hunting so there's no reason for anything to target me. It's you, something you're doing and I'm getting dragged in. It has to stop. I won't let what you're doing kill Jess."

"I drove all night to get here and all I'm getting is flack and bullshit. You're damned well feeding me." Dean growled, "If you want to get take out fine. I'll have this conversation here but only if I'm eating the hungry man special. Bacon and sausage dude."

"Damn it Dean!" Sam roared, after a night of sweat and nightmares he was in no mood for prima donna Dean.

"I dropped everything including my dinner, to come running on nothing more than 'help this has to stop'." Dean roared back, "Now you can damned well show me some consideration. Feed me!"

Sam seethed a moment before stomping into the diner. He hated having to admit Dean had a point, ever, but the fact was Sam hadn't eaten since noon himself. Maybe he could force down a fried egg sandwich slathered with ketchup. He dropped to a stool at the counter and begrudgingly ordered Dean his breakfast and the sandwich. As he waited there was to much time to think. The last thing he wanted to consider was the possibility that Dean was right. If it wasn't something he or dad was doing that was threatening Jess than there was no way to stop it and that Sam would not, could not, accept. Hot greasy and slapped in a Styrofoam box Sam brought Dean his breakfast. He choked down half his sandwich before confronting his brother again.

"So what did I do to bring this on myself Dean." Sam began confrontationally, "How did I upset anyone or anything by going to college. Besides dad that is."

"You were born." Dean answered around a mouth full of bacon.

"Damn it this is not time for stupid jokes." Sam blew up.

"Do you see me laughing?" Dean demanded, "This started thirty years ago. In seventy-three there was demon activity all around Lawrence. A number of families had inexplicable things happen. On the Wiltshire Farm Tom Wiltshire some how ended up splattered all over the back fourty. Days before that a strange preacher asked Charily Wiltshire what he really wanted and the kid answered his dad to stop hitting his mom. The preacher said fine he'd arrange that but the kid would have to let him come visit in ten years. The guys eyes flashed yellow. Same preacher visited Libby Walsh and offered to cure someone in the family for permission to come in ten years. These people had no idea they were dealing with a demon or even what kind of deal they were making. Mom was friends with Libby Walsh and was visiting the night the demon was there, and the night after the visit both our grandparents were dead, murdered"

"You think mom made a deal." Sam stammered in a state of shock.

"It seems likely." Dean admitted reluctantly, "Sammy, she had no idea what she was agreeing to. None of them did."

"If she even knew she was dealing with a demon." Sam agreed.

"Ten years later not just Lawrence Kansas but all over the place, mothers died in strange fires in their baby's nursery." Dean continued the tale, "What ever started back then it's big and it's not over, and whether you like it or not Sammy, you're part of it. Turning your back on the supernatural will not get you out. It could get you eaten or something but not out."

"Eaten?"

"Well you're not paying attention to where you're going or who you're with and suddenly you're eaten by a rugaru, or a Windago." Dean said with shrug.

"I'll ignore that." Sam huffed refusing to ask what a rugaru was.

"Didn't I just say that?" Dean asked his expression innocent.

"Dean how is dad taking all this?" Sam asked realizing the wide ranging impact this had on his family, "This must be eating him up. He loved mom so much, to find out she made a demon deal …?"

"I doubt dad's figured out that part but I really don't know. Dad, well of secretes remember?" Dean shook his head, "He's kind of blind when it comes to mom. But whatever deals were made they weren't with us so lets concentrate on us and now."

"You're not working with dad on this?" Sam exclaimed flabbergasted, "Where does the information come from."

"Research dude, years of research into mom's death. " Dean said, disgust in his expression.

"You couldn't come up with something like this all by yourself. This is all bullshit isn't it?" Sam snarled back.

"Sam you are one major dick." Dean snapped and started up the engine, "Baghdad falls April 9th and the war ends twenty-one days later. Isn't that why you called me because I'm right?"

In part Sam was right but Dean couldn't admit that. Dean wouldn't have figured out a demon plot like that, not because he couldn't but rather because he wouldn't have attempted it. Dad picked the hunts and directed the research and he always trusted his dad.

"Yah some psychic told you about the war." Sam agreed reluctantly, "But that doesn't make you right about this."

"Why the hell did you call me?" Dean demanded, "Did you expect me to tell you every thing you want to hear and make it all go away?"

"I don't know what I expected." Sam whined, "But mom and demons and thirty year plans. Since when do demons do thirty years plans?"

"Where did you hear that they don't? It's not the thirty years that's bothering you it's that your brother who's only interests are food and sex came up with this." Dean called a spade a spade, "Sam, all through high school I hunted with dad and not just on weekends, I went hustling pool at night, looked after you during the day and I still maintained a B average."

"Dean I know you're not stupid." Sam tried to be conciliatory, "I just ….. I can't buy this."

"Yah well fuck you too, little brother." Dean snapped his ire rising even with his best efforts at self control, "I don't give a shit what you think. Before I leave we'll take care of Brady."

"Do what to him?" Sam asked nervous.

"He's in trouble right. I know why. I'll call you and tell you where to bring him to straighten him out." Dean said dispassionately.

"How? What are you going to do?" Sam demanded answers.

"Why the hell are you asking?" Dean exploded under the weight of his anger and frustration, "You don't trust me, you won't believe me."

"I need to know!" Sam yelled back.

"Why should I tell you just so you can call me a stupid liar to my face again." Dean yelled.

"I never called you a stupid liar." Sam grumbled and whined in frustration, it wasn't like Dean to get worked up over nothing.

"I couldn't come up with something like this on my own so it's bullshit." Dean quoted him then pulling in front of the dorm barked, "Get out of the car."

"Well that's not the same as stupid liar." Sam fumbled.

"Get out of the car, Sam." " Dean repeated.

"I never meant you were stupid it's just that putting something like this together just isn't you." Sam tried again, "Dad sure but you just wouldn't."

"Bite me." Dean sniped, "Get out of the car."

"Really Dean, I just don't see you doing this." Sam said in as solicitous a manner possible.

"And of course you couldn't possibly be wrong." Dean fired back, "Just get out of the car."

"Dean I don't want you to think I…."

"Do you want me to fix Brady up or not?" Dean demanded.

"Yes of course I do." Sam replied, "But what's wrong with him?"

"Sudden personality change. What does that mean in our world?"

"I don't know. A doppelganger?" Sam suggested.

"He's possessed."

"Possessed, what the….." Sam stammered stunned by the idea, "Oh come on Dean."

"Do not test him. You'll tip him off and he'll disappear. If he's not possessed then I'm the dumb ass liar you think I am. So don't screw up and you'll prove me wrong." Dean suggested.

"And Brady will think I'm a freak." Sam huffed.

"Now he'll think your brother is an asshole and you won't have to make up excuses for not seeing me again." Dean sweetened his offer.

"Fine." Sam accepted.

"Get out of the car, Sam."

"I'll wait for your call."

Dean doubted his father had as much information as he did. Could anyone have found all that out without the help of Castiel? It was highly unlikely but it still cut deep that Sam would assume he was lying. Without a second thought, without asking a single question he skipped right to liar. Sam should have more faith in him. How could he possibly gain Sam's respect if he couldn't even convince his brother he was capable of research and he assumed Dean lied for malicious reasons too. Where, when and how, did Sam get that idea that he would scam him, or set him up in in any way. That hurt.

Dean spent the rest of the day simmering while looking for the perfect spot to lay a trap. Brady or rather the demon who was wearing Brady was a party animal. The obvious lure was a party so he looked for and found an unused storage warehouse that would do. A few coloured lights and some loud music should get him in the door and blind him long enough for him to step into the devil's trap. Everything was available if you just know where to steal it. It took very little to hook up the power and get the PA system working. Then it was a simple matter of pointing flashing lights at the door. A cassette player set up with PA microphone and there was a rave in the warehouse. Dean made the call to Sam. There was only one catch in the plan. Sam had to lie convincingly and he hadn't had a lot of, on the job, practice. Well maybe there were two catches.

"Think Brady would be up for a party?" Dean asked

"Always why?"

"Tell him there's a rave in a warehouse at 347 Walkly." Dean filled Sam in on the plan, "If you can get him here there will be music and flashing lights. Just guide him to the door and make sure he takes at least three steps in. The flashing lights aimed at the door should keep him blind long enough, but if he stops push him. Anything for those three steps to reach the trap and you give it a wide berth. Got all that Sammy?"

"I think you should call dad Dean." Sam strongly suggested.

"Don't Sam." Dean warned, "I've done exorcisms. Just get him here."

"If he really is possessed I don't want to take any chances with his life Dean, please call dad." Same implored.

All Sam heard in response was silence. The connection was cut. Sam toyed with the idea of calling John himself but was afraid of getting Dean in trouble. But then, this could be some paranoid delusion of Dean's in which case calling their father would be the best thing for Dean. He needed help. On the other hand there was no denying the fact that Dean's predictions of the Iraqi war were right on. The beginning could have been a fluke or tip but the end? Sam wished he waited until the end of April to call. As Sam agonized over the decision a knock came on the door followed by Dean marching right in. As Sam started to speak Dean held up his hand and punched a number into his phone.

"Oh good, dad." Sam sighed.

"Hi, Brady I'm Dean Winchester, Sam's brother." Dean said a big happy smile in his voice, "Yah, just in town for a couple of day's, hey, he said you liked a good party." pause, "Yah, I got word on a rave in a warehouse on the edge of town. Would you be interested?" pause, "Sure, it would be good to meet a friend of Sam's." pause, "No Sam's not to chatty that way. We're kind of private people, Hey dude so how about it?" pause, "Great meet you there tonight say nine? Alright nine then."

"Dean I'm going to kill you," Sam snarled outraged.

"Don't try it Sam I could always kick your ass and in the mood I'm in right now I'll beat the shit out of you." Dean warned in earnest, "Come on we got to get there before he does."

"It's only seven." Sam snorted wondering if maybe he could take Dean, after all he worked out a lot more than he used to.

"He's a demon." said Dean grabbing Sam's coat, "He'll go early to check it out. Now are you coming or am I doing this alone?"

With a snarl and a huff Sam stomped out the door after his brother while wondering if he would have a chance to call his father before Brady arrived. John would order Dean to stop and join up with him and he would tell Brady it was all a mistake. There was not rave. Thinking it over Sam decided he didn't need to be sneaky about it and took out his phone.

"I just have to make a call." Sam said nonchalantly.

Dean grabbed the phone and threw it out the window. For a full minute Sam could only stare his eyes wide and his chin on his chest. Dean didn't seem to notice keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"You threw my phone out the window." Sam gasped.

"What you're the only one allowed to be rude and arrogant?" Dean asked.

"I can't believe you did that." Sam whined.

"You're not calling dad." Dean stated as fact.

"Your crazy. You've totally flipped." Sam exclaimed.

"And you're a self-righteous, conceited, selfish, dick." Dean returned, "But I'm going to save your ass anyway."

Sam was too angry to say anything more. He had spent his whole life being told what to do by Dean. He was elated to hear Dean's do what you want and live your own life speech. He felt his brother had finely let him grow up. In Sam's opinion it didn't take his brother long to fall back on old habits. After more than a year of independence he would not easily tolerate it. They drove to the warehouse in heated silence. Dean insisted on hiding the Impala and Sam grumbled through the entire walk.

"He knows what car I drive Sam." Dean groaned.

"Why would he know, he's never met you."

"He's a demon Sam he knows."

"I doubt you're that important to demons, Dean."

Dean's only response was a glared. He completely ignored Sam and sat down to his computer which he had hooked up to out door cameras. The old security system in the warehouse was antiquated and it took a little jerry rigging to patch it through his lap top. With the hostility hanging so heavily between them it was a long painful wait but just before eight Brady came into view on foot. 'He stashed his car too.' Dean muttered and switched on the music. As they waited Brady came to a side door.

"Is it locked?" Sam asked.

"Of course but that won't stop him."

"But your trap is at the front door?"

"I'm not a fool Sam. I know how to do my job."

As Sam watched Brady yanked the heavy steal door open with no effort and stepped out of view. Dean took up a pair of night vision binoculars and watched the cavernous store room. One step two and …

"Got yah you son of a bitch." He grinned, "Grab a couple of pails." He told Sam, turned off the music and switched on the lights before picking a couple up himself.

"Hey what the hell's going on here?" Brady called in a friendly fashion.

"I ask the questions here." Dean answered before Sam could

As they approached Sam could see Brady was standing in the middle of an intricate design painted on the concrete floor. Dean stopped at the edge of the circle, smiled saying 'hay bitch' and threw a bucket of holy water on him. Sam stared horrified as Brady sizzled and screamed and his eyes turned solid black. Although Brady staggered when the water hit him he didn't step out of the circle.

"Brady?" Sam muttered in distress.

"Now, tell us all about Azazel's plans." Dean ordered.

"Go to hell." Brady replied grinning though his cloths still smoked.

"Been there, done that." Dean replied and threw another bucket of holy water on him, "You know I can do this all night, if fact I think I will. Sam fill this up and bless it, here's a rosary. Now Sam!"

Sam looked at the buckets his mind trying to rap it's self around the idea that Dean was right. With each bucket of holy water Brady sizzled and screamed and Dean would ask again 'what is Azazel up to' and Brady would reply that he didn't know. After refilling the buckets Sam suggested Brady might not know. Dean stared at him in dismay while Brady thanked Sam for seeing the truth. It was to much for Dean to take so he threw another bucket of water on Brady though he was tempted to douse Sam.

"What did you do that for?" Brady demanded.

"You may be able to bullshit him but not me. I'll cut you some slack." Dean mused thoughtfully then grinned, "Tell Sammy here what your orders are. And I won't use this one."

"Hey I'm just having a good time." Brady grinned and Dean hit him in the face with the water.

At this point Brady's cloths were soaked and he never stopped sizzling so he stripped himself naked yelling, swearing and cursing Dean as he did. Dean looked him up and down.

"Boring." he heaved a big sigh, "Bitch, I am so bored I'm just going to end this."

"I'll climb out of hell again." Brady grinned.

"No you won't." Dean pulled an antique colt from his back, and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

"Oh shit." Brady muttered, "But you'll kill the host."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Dean smirked.

"No Dean!" Sam cried in alarm.

"You're bluffing, that's not the real colt." Brady read Dean's mind.

"True you got me. I'll send you home and you can explain your failure to Lilith or maybe Alastair." Dean said with a shrug and began the exorcism.

After only a minutes grunting and screaming Brady yelled, "Alright, alright. All I know is I'm supposed to find Sam some sweet innocent girl and then kill her."

"When?" Dean demanded.

"November 2005." Brady answered starting to look relieved but Dean picked up the Latin chant again.

"That's all I know. I swear." Brady insisted.

"You're point." Dean asked.

"You're supposed to stop the exorcism."

"When did we agree to that?" Dean returned and finished the exorcism.

Sam watched in amazement and horror as a great column of vial black smoke issued out of Brady's mouth and headed down through the concrete. The man now free of the demon fell unconscious to the floor. Sam rushed over, checked for a pulse and sighed with relief when he found one.

"You were right." Sam said his voice strangled by fear and confusion.

"Yah, it's all true." Dean nodded.

"Jessica is going to die, because of me?" Sam choked.

"They kill her to make you angry, to make you vengeful. If you're not involved with her they'll have no reason to kill her."

"The demon's gone, no one to kill her.?"

"They'll send a replacement." Dean answered putting a hand on Sam's shoulder but said the last thing Sam wanted to hear, "Or Azazel will come and do it himself. We should get this guy to a hospital."

Poor Brady was lost and confused. He had images in his mind like clips or a lengthy preview of a horror movie. All the worst parts and he was in it. He was the psycho killer. Three months of memory loss, complicated by fantasy horror images was a concern to the doctors. They were keeping him for observation. Dean gave Sam a charm to gave to Brady.

"And you wear one too. It's protection against possession." He explained, "Better still get it tattooed on you."

"Where did you get this?" Sam held it up.

"Bobby Singer makes them or buys them. I don't know."

"Sam nodded then made a nasty face, "Did you say tattooed?"

Dean lifted his shirt and pulled his jeans down a little in the front to display his tattooed. "Doesn't hurt. Much."

"Why did you?" Sam pointed to the ink a little below the pelt line.

"So dad wouldn't see it. I recommend it Sammy." Dean urged, "You can always loose a charm. The chain can break, whatever. This is the one way to make sure you don't get possessed." Dean grinned ear to ear, "And it turns the girls on."

Sam tried to grin but it was hard. Dean gave up trying to get a smile out of Sam, stuffed him in the car and let him cry all the way back to Stanford. Dean felt the kid had a damned good reason to cry and let him. He waited until they were on campus before broaching the difficult subject.

"Sammy, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Stop seeing Jessica, but after that I don't know." Sam let out a heart breaking sigh, "Any idea's?"

"Finish your semester. Go ahead and finish then come back in the fall and put in another year before the shit hits the fan."

"Why should I bother?" Sam gripped.

"Cause you'll want to go back to school when this is over. It will be over some day, Sammy." Dean assured him, "Stick with college if it's what you want and I'll pick you up in June or whenever the signs are right but I think the shit will hit the fan in November of 05. We hunt Azazel down and stop what we have to stop then you go back to your life here. Maybe convince Jessica to take you back. This isn't the end of your life dude, it's just a detour."

"Okay." Sam nodded, "Sounds good to me. Uh Dean I'm sorry about the way I acted."

"You are?" Dean asked, "You know Sammy you should consider that it's been over two years since I went from part time Sammy sitter and part time hunter to full time hunter. Things have changed and so have I. Think about it and try to have a little faith in me. I just don't know how you could think I'd lie about something like that. What would be the point?"

"I don't know. It's such an incredible story and I didn't want to believe you."

"Well I'm sorry Sammy but it's a true. Be careful and call me when you decide what you're going to do. But first things first. Stay away from Jessica."

"Right, I'll break up with here tomorrow. God I wish I'd listened to you in the first place. It would have been a lot easier then." Sam sighed sadly but managed to keep himself from crying again.

"Yah, I'm sorry too. " Dean patted his shoulder, "Sammy, I'm going to book a room and catch some sleep before I head out. Call me if you need to talk again. Okay? Maybe we'll have breakfast before I go."

Sam did call and they did have breakfast together. It was a quiet meal in a quiet corner of a little family restaurant Sam picked. The shock factor seemed to have worn of and Sam had himself very much under control. He hadn't had the conversation with Jessica yet but he was resolved to do it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. He also liked the idea of staying in college for as long as he could. He liked the idea of staying close to Jessica just in case she needed his protection. 'But not too close Sammy.' he was warned.

* * *

Dean didn't know if it was possible to stop Jessica's death at this point. Azazel might know Sam was still in love with and kill her anyway. Taking him on the road after his third year might not be enough. Dean just hoped that whatever happened Sam would be able to go back to Stanford. A lot had to be done. Azazel had to be killed the gate had to remain closed to keep Lilith from rising and he had to stay out of hell to avoid breaking the first seal. Dean shrugged thinking they'd faced worse. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror and said 'You go right ahead and lie to yourself.'

Dean had something more immediate to deal with. He called John before hitting the road to find out if the hunt in Beaver Utah was finished and if so where he was. John said it was a coven trying to raise a demon but he sounded a little off. He huffed and made a view spiteful comments when Dean told him Sam had a very bad break-up with a girl he was crazy about. It wasn't like John to be vicious where Sam was concerned and the language was uncharacteristically colourful. Dean wondered if his departure had pushed his father to far? He'd find out soon enough. They were to rendezvous in Glenwood Springs Colorado. Dean saw it as an opportunity to drop by Manning to visit a hunter named Daniel Elkins. Or his safe at any rate.

It was sixteen hours to Glenwood but with the detour to Manning it was a two day trip. Dean had little trouble getting the extra time as John didn't expect Dean to do sixteen hours in one day. Dean couldn't think of anything sleazier than steeling from another hunter but with the fate of the entire world riding on stopping Azazel Dean tucked his repugnance in his hip pocket and made a B line for Manning. Lead footing it as hard as he dared Dean turned a twenty hour drive into fifteen bringing him into Manning at four o'clock in the morning. The sun would be rising soon enough and though exhausted he had to get it then and there or come up with another excuse. The car broke down? Dean could well imagine the repercussions of that.

At three in the morning Elkins should be fast asleep but how deep does any hunter sleep? Dean considered carefully what he had done the last time. How could have alerted the old man to his presence? Dean decided to make sure Elkins was in bed in the first place then jammed the door. At least Dean would be warned if Daniel got up. He looked carefully around the safe for a trip wire or motion detector and found none. Carefully Dean spun the tumblers finding the right combination. He had it opened before Elkins was able to get out of his bedroom and down the stairs and was laying in wait. Dean hit the man as lightly as he dared stunning him and was able to tie him blindfolded to a chair. He came to quickly and ranted as Dean locked the safe back up and left the room without uttering a single word. He made an anonymous call to the sheriff's station before driving to the outskirts of Glenwood Springs only three hours away and found a secluded spot to curl up in the backseat for a few hours sleep.

The minute Daniel was freed from the chair he rushed to his safe and found as he feared, his most precious possession stolen and a letter left in it's place. On a hunch he didn't draw any attention to the letter and waited for the deputy to leave before reading it.

* * *

March 31 2003

Dean Mr. Atkins;

I can't imagine anything lower for a hunter than stealing from another hunter but if I tried to explain why I have to have your colt you wouldn't believe me. More than my families lives are at stake. If I succeed in what I have to do I will return your colt. It could take a few years and I may have to use more than one bullet but God willing no more than two. If I fail it won't matter whether it's returned or not. For all our shakes, wish me luck.

With Respect.

* * *

A cold chill ran down Daniel Atkins back. The best case scenario, the colt was in the hands of a deluded hunter. If not well the possibilities were numerous and gruesome. Daniel decided to call up a few old acquaintances and see if anything was on the rise.

* * *

*** Please review and tell me if you still think I'm Sammy bashing.**

****Again my deepest regrets for the mistakes. Forgive my I'm new at this.**


	8. Chapter 8 Greys Anatomy

**I borrowed Sam and Dean again and gave them right back.  
**

* * *

******GRAYS ANATOMY**

**Glenwood Springs Colorado March 3rd**

When Dean walked into the motel room he stretched like he was cramped and went right to a beer as would be expected of him. He knew after pulling an all nighter that even with a few hours sleep he would still be drained and looking as if he'd been on the road all day.

"I wasn't expecting you for a few hours." John greeted him pleasantly enough.

"I do tend to make good time." Dean grinned.

"Leave many cops in the ditch along the way?"

"Oh I think a couple got away." Dean answered his grin turning into a smirk.

"Losing your touch, Ace?" John chuckled.

Well, he was in better humour than the day before. Maybe the rant over the phone was the result of an abnormally bad day. Dean avoided the subject of his little jaunt and dove right into the new hunt. He went through the motions of doing the research, asked only a few questions and left all deductions to John. Dean remembered this one so questions were not required and his dad needed little from him. It was a difficult poltergeist haunting but nothing John couldn't handle and after the stresses of the past week Dean was happy to take a back seat. Regardless of Dean's efforts to not provoke John, as the day wore on he grew distant and antagonistic. The coffee was lousy, the snacks horrible, Dean chewed to loud and on and on. Dean gave up and left. Perhaps if he gave it a few hours John would settle down, be more himself. But it was perturbing just how out of character his father was. The coffee was always lousy and John would have been angry if Dean bought him another bag of Doritos before the fist was finished. He was chewing to loud? It made no sense. As he considered John's strange change in character Dean tried not to let his imagination run away with him, but it wasn't easy. There were to many possibilities most of which involved his dad being dead. Dean began to appreciate what his father was going through with him and was grateful for John's faith in him.

Dean stopped at a good restaurant and picked up his fathers favourite dinner, salmon steak with stir fried rice and asparagus tips. It was Dean's way of saying thanks for trusting me. But he waited to long. When he came back with the special take out Dean found his dad sitting at the table in the dark with a bottle of tequila, grumbling and muttering to himself. Dean pasted a smile on his face and pretended not to notice his fathers condition. He served the dinner hoping for at least a hint of a smile. At the sight of the salmon steak John was a little less grumpy. There was even a semblance of pleasant conversation but it lasted only as long as the meal.

There was a look in John's eyes Dean had never seen before. He had seen rage in his father so great he attacked with two bullet holes in him, grief so profound he could not tolerate the pain sober, and laughter that made his eyes sparkle and dance. He even saw his father confused and lost. What he saw that night Dean could not describe. It appeared a mix of anger, pain and confusion that might have been madness, but as the evening progressed the anger grew and seemed to dominate. Dean was disappointed when John passed the holy water in the beer test. It would have been a simple explanation with not too difficult a solution. His dinner eaten, his beer finished John sat back with his tequila and began to pick at Dean pointing out every little defect he preserved in his son but Dean tried to not fight back. He new reason would be pointless and retaliation dangerous so he clenched his jaw and kept quiet until he could take no more then he grabbed his coat.

"Where do you think you're going?" John demanded stepping into Dean's path.

"Out, just out." Dean replied trying to go around.

"Running away?" John accused, "Taking after your brother, running to him maybe? Sam's a selfish, ungrateful, arrogant little prick but at least he had the guts to stand up to me. What are you besides a screw up? You take everything I dish out and come back for more just for the privilege of living in my shadow like a faithful dog sitting at my feet hoping for a pat and a bone. If you're tugging at the leash what are you good for?" he finished with a cruel sneer.

Dean slowly turned to face the father he knew so well and saw a stranger. He wanted to ask who are you. The look of rage in his eyes and face bordered on madness. This man with the blazing eyes and twisted cruel smile wasn't his father, the father that died for him. Yet everything he said had been said before in many different ways. Dean just didn't know and he'd reached the point where he didn't care.

Dean smiled his signature smirk and said with every ounce of venom he had, "You dumped all your family responsibilities on me when I was a kid and I was man enough to handle it, even if you weren't."

"What was that boy?" John bellowed grabbing Dean by the lapels and throwing him into the door, "What does a pathetic, snivelling, ass kisser like you know about being a man?" he screamed in Dean's face then slammed him twice into the door, "You're a worthless, needy, weight around my neck, You couldn't stand on your own …."

Years of being alone, years of responsibility weighting him down, bearing guilt and shame that was not his and above all years of endless criticism and rejection exploded with a violence that roared in his ears and ripped a cry of rage from his throat that felt like sandpaper. With all the power of his wrath behind it Dean slammed the heal of his palm into John's chest sending him flying across the room and crashing into the back wall. Dean hadn't realized he possessed such strength and found it a little intimidating. As John lay prone by the back wall all the fury slowly drained from Dean's body. A lump formed in his throat as he rushed to his father's side. Such a blow with enough force could rupture the spleen, cause a heart attack, or breake the breast bone.

"Dad, dad are you okay?" Dean pleaded more than asked.

John's response was a sucker punch to the face. Dean's reaction was reflex. He rolled away then as John jumped up to attack Dean's foot smashed into his father's abdomen sending him flying over the bed. Dean wanted to run out the door putting an end to the fight but something simmered in him refusing to be ignored. The cry was no longer 'See what a good boy I am' but a demand that John see him as a man worthy of his respect. He would have that respect if he had to pummel his father to get it. John popped up from the other side of the bed like a deranged jack in the box his facial features twisted unrecognisable. There was something wrong, very wrong, John was never this out of control. However justified Dean's anger the certain knowledge that something unnatural was at work doused his fire, made him hesitant and pull his punches.

Dean did manage a few nice defensive moves landed quite a few hits that would have stopped any man, even his father but something was driving John. By the time Dean realized nothing but an all out fight with everything he had was going to stop his father he was already too seriously hurt to put up much of a struggle. Dean's reflexes were starting to slow and fractured ribs made it hard to breath encumbering his every move. John did not hesitate to take advantage and began slamming Dean into walls breaking an arm and putting a hole in plaster with Dean's head.

When Dean felt his stomach larch and saw the hole his head put in a wall he knew he was in trouble. Concussion soon to follow. He had to do something but the broken arm would be a problem. He was dizzy and his vision was slightly blurred. He knew where his father was, the screaming was a dead giveaway. One of the lines he caught a couple of times was "Aren't you at least smart enough to know you can't take me?' But there was one that gave Dean the strength to act.

'You're going to learn your place is behind me if I have to buy a collar and leash!'.

A collar and leash? Did he really say that? This dog's biting back! Dean tucked his arm in his pants and got to his feet. With his father in a blind rage, the lesson was lost and only fury mattered. Dean got a few more good shots in. His father's own injuries helped Dean's situation but after giving Dean a serious rib pounding John shoved Dean's face into his knee with all his might seriously smashing the right side of his face. Dean staggered, fell and couldn't find up. The pain that shot through his head was so severe Dean thought he would throw up but more important he lost the use of his right eye. Thrashing he found a bed and used it to help him crawl up a wall. It was his right arm that worked but his left eye that was open, which made for a terrible handicap. Dean had never been afraid of his father before but he faced him now with a profound dread. Whatever he did now it would have to be quick and decisive before he landed in intensive care. Or worse. Dean took up a towel hoping to trap his fathers fist in it stalling him long enough to deliver an elbow to his temple. Dean heard breaking glass to his right, his dad was moving too fast for his blurry vision to keep up. John approached and Dean tried to adjust his stance to best serve his right arm and protect his left side but then he couldn't see and he repositioned himself for sight. He knew all he had was a prayer.

_'Exposed, half my body's exposed and dad's coming at me with a broken bottle. He doesn't hate me, he can't, he died, went to hell for me? How could he hate me?'_

The only thing Dean could say for himself was he got in a good kick to the knee before John started slashing at him. He vaguely remember screaming "Dad, please don't kill me." a few times before he passed out.

When Dean woke up he was in a hospital. Based on blurry images and sound Dean deduced he was in an examination room in emergency. A quick mental self examination revealed his father didn't stopped kicking or hitting him after he fell unconscious. Pain radiated throughout his entire body. Dean doubted there was an inch of him that wasn't bruised. He could still partially see out of one eye, like looking through a gossamer vale. His father was talking to a police officer while doctors and nurses alike tried to get rid of them both. Or was that his father? _'Who was that man who did this to me?'_ A nurse tapped John on the shoulder and pointed to Dean.

"There you are Ace." John rushed over, every bit the doting father. "You had me scared for a while. Look Mac, the police want to ask you a few questions about the break in. I didn't get a decent look in the dark, just a scuffle and out the door so it's up to you. Can you talk?" Dean tried to nod, "Officer Philips my son, Mackenzie Tucker."

There it was, identity and cover story outlined in front of the police.

Through swollen lips Dean croaked, "I wish I could tell you but I was attacked from behind. I don't even know if there was more than one."

"Can you tell us anything maybe about the way you were attacked what type of weapon might have been used?" The insistent officer asked.

He just couldn't focus, he couldn't think. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He was afraid. His father had made him feel inadequate, incompetent, inferior and above all worthless but John never made Dean afraid of him. Till now. If that was dad.

"Son if you can't do this it's okay."

"From behind I went down … tried to get up but someone grabbed me .. shoved my face into ….. in to …. something." Dean forced through gritted teeth, "I don't know? So fast, couldn't see after that. Just sounds."

Dean had to talk threw his teeth because moving his jaw was agony. Dean prayed he was doing alright, he was pretty good at tall tales for cop situations but the pain was making him dizzy.

"Movement, laughing, young, young voice. Big, as big as me maybe bigger. Lots of weight." he tried to keep it up, but though his lips continued moving nothing was coming out.

"I think that's it. He can't say anymore," John became the protective dad, "He needs to rest you'll have to come back later if you're not satisfied."

The officer lightly touched Dean's shoulder and smiled, "Sure we can come back another time. We'll do what we can."

Dean tried to give him a smile but half his face was in a bandage and if the pain was any indicator for a good reason. The possibilities were to horrendous to consider so he ignored it hoping it would be gone when the doctors were finished with him. The officer spoke to a doctor and nurse then just left. John was paying attention, waiting. The moment the police officer was gone John's face became furrowed with worry.

"Dean, don't go back to sleep, Dean." John whispered frantically, "You have to tell me what happened."

"You don't know?" Dean asked.

"Son did my eyes change colour?" John asked.

"No, sorry Dad, it wasn't a demon." Dean grunted trying to manage the pain, "At first I thought shape shifter but you didn't do the eye thing. It was you wasn't it?"

"I can't describe what it was like." John sighed with remorse, "I could see you but it wasn't you, It was a …. a …. a different you. I heard myself but I didn't understand what I was saying or why. There were voices whispering strange things in my head and a powerful rage driving me. I would have bet the farm on possession. Dean I am so sorry I couldn't stop it. My God Dean I can't believe I didn't have the strength to stop this. Son …I…"

"Dad, I knew it wasn't you." Dean assured him, "It's not your fault. Wait did you say voices, as in more than one?"

"Yes." said John , the point peeking his interest, "You might have something there."

There had to be a supernatural explanation. John wouldn't believe he was capable of brutalizing his son no matter how drunk or angry he was. And he wasn't that angry. Oh, a little angry, feeling betrayed and worried that Dean wouldn't come back. When Dean called and said he was on his way John was filled with relief. He didn't understand why he was angry with Sam, why he said the things he did. Yes his frustration levels were high but directed at Dean. Where was all this rage coming from or perhaps he should be asking from whom.

"Dad, how bad am I." Dean dared to ask though he was afraid of the answer.

"I won't lie to you, Ace." John confessed his voice choking, "It's bad really bad. I'm so sorry."

"I know dad, it wasn't you." _'But some part of it was.'_

"I'm glad you understand that." John couldn't hold back a sob but he gave himself an internal reprimand, and brought himself under control.

"Dad it's okay. Everything's going to be okay." Dean reassured him.

He tried to reach for his father's face but his blurred vision was getting in the way. This was not the same man who almost killed him, he told himself and he believed it, but a small part of him hiding deep inside couldn't let go of the fear. The moment was interrupted by a man in scrubs covered by a white coat. He was a sophisticated looking gentleman with dark greying hair, with a kind intelligent voice and confident manner that was reassuring. John quickly brushed away his tears and placed his hand on Dean's good arm.

"Mr. Tucker, I'm Dr. Bradshaw, the admitting physician." The man introduced himself, "We did perform emergency surgery to pull a rib out of a lung but anything more at this point would be very dangerous. I'm afraid you have a very serious concussion. Further surgery will have to wait until you have recovered. Are you familiar with the treatment of concussion?"

"Oh yah, you're going to keep me awake for twenty four hours." Dean groaned.

"First we'll move you to a room were we have more sophisticated equipment to monitor you with." The doctor described what was about to happen, "Then we're going to wake you up ever hour and a half to make sure you don't slip into to deep a sleep. The equipment we will hook you up to will worn us if you sleep to deeply."

"By sleep you mean coma. Sounds good." Dean tried to sound optimistic, "Well that's better than awake. I'm really, really tired."

"Fine you try to rest." Dr. Bradshaw encouraged.

"Thank you Doctor." John said keeping his voice even, then turned to Dean giving his arm a squeeze, "You close your eyes and get some rest Ace. I'll be right here. Okay?"

"Okay." Dean agreed, he couldn't hold his eye open any longer.

The ritual treatment for concussion began. They moved him to a room full of equipment to much of which beeped none stop but even that couldn't keep him awake. What sleep he could get was interrupted by someone waking him up every hour and a half taking his vitals and checking his pupil. Concussion, getting one was painful enough and suffering with the ear splitting head ache would not be soon forgotten but the treatment was shear misery. Left alone Dean would drift away from the pain and confusion that was his life and hide in the dark for as long as he could until sound and light began to force their way in again but finally they came no more and he slept. But life would have it's way. At first there was a muddled mess of noise and images penetrating his consciousness at irregular intervals. Then sound and sight grew clearer until he knew enough to wish it would go away.

But one persistent voice said, "Mr. Tucker, how nice to see you again."

Dean forced his eye open and gave the owner of the voice the courtesy of looking at her. He could see little more that an outline but the voice had a mature sexy tone to it and the outline was trim and curvy. Dean wanted to offer her an appreciative smile but he couldn't move his face and every attempt to move his jaw sent pain right to his skull. Without the battle adrenaline coursing through him or cop paranoia spurring him on he was feeling it all and it was bad.

"Hay." was all Dean could manage.

"I'm Janet, I'm your nurse. There are some doctors who have been waiting to talk to you." She told him, "I'll let them know you're awake. It'll take a while for them to gather together so you have some time with your father."

With time and clarity of mind Dean gave himself a thorough examination taking note not simply of the pain but its source. Even without clear vision Dean could see his left leg was in traction, his left arm was strapped to his body and a tube was sticking out of his chest. Finely the right side of his face was covered with bandages including his eye. No, he wouldn't think about that. There was a shuffling noise and John's face came into view.

"Feeling any better Ace?" John asked with false cheer.

"More clear headed." Dean answered, "What about you, were you hurt at all?"

"Well they taped up my ribs and as you can see I can only see out of one eye. My wrist's in a cast and a few other miner things." John rimed off the list, "Went easy on me didn't you ace."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I appreciate the sentiment son but a big part of me wishes you clobbered me."

"If I'd known I would have dad." Dean said in all sincerity, "Or ran for the door. Have you figured anything out yet."

"Even foggy you think pretty good." John said a smile in his voice, "I made a few phone calls while you were out. I already have a few leads on what happened to me. I promise you Dean, I'll find whatever it was and it'll die ugly."

"Good plan." Dean tried to sound pleased but his whole head throbbed with a pain so intense it churned his stomach, "Has the doctor told you anything yet."

"Yah, Dean this isn't going to be easy but you have to hang tough here." John began slowly, hesitantly, the guilt was overwhelming but he had to think about Dean, not himself, "Dean, I'm sorry son I busted you up pretty bad."

"You didn't. Something controlling you did." Dean hurried to put the blame where it belonged.

"Yes I know but it's hard, son." John's voice began to crack, "I can see you, see it happening. I even felt the satisfaction, hell, the pleasure this thing took in beating you. I felt it like it was me."

"That sounds different from possession." Dean quickly changed the subject, "Maybe a creature that infects you with what it wants or some kind of mind control? A spell maybe?"

"Yes, I'm researching that and I'm getting help." John pulled back from his grief, "Without you to work that machine of yours I'm a little handicapped. But about you. Dean you need to know …."

Before John could deliver the bad news the door opened and a parade of doctors came in. Five doctors in green surgical dress marched into Dean's room and circled the bed. One of them checked the chart muttered to the others then nodded at Dean. Seeing through his one blurred eye was like looking at a fuzzy old TV screen. The effect was disorienting and frustrating.

"Mr. Tucker I'm happy to report you came through that very well." Dr. Bradshaw greeted Dean warmly, "Your CAT scans are very reassuring, but I'm afraid you won't have a lot of time to relax. I would like to introduce you to the team of physicians who will be looking after you. We have, Dr. Ricker a very skilled Orthopaedic surgeon, and Dr. Foss a talented plastic surgeon from Denver who came at the request of Dr. Milkirk and our anaesthesiologist Dr. Parker.

Dean turned to his father and said, "Circle the wagons Dad we're under attack."

"Mac." John warned but couldn't help grinning at Dean's irreverent ways.

Dr. Bradshaw chuckled, "Now that's a good sign."

Dr. Foss turned to Dr. Bradshaw saying, "I think I'm going to enjoy this case."

"Mr. Tucker are you familiar with what a general or trauma surgeon does?" Dr. Bradshaw asked.

"Yes." John answered.

"I was addressing your son." The doctor told John not hiding his irritation well.

"I'm Mr. Tucker, this is Mac." John established the chain of command.

"Very well, Mac?"

"Yah I'm familiar." Dean answered.

"Amongst my other functions I will be coordinating your surgery and treatment. When you came in we only did what was necessary to stabilize you. Anything more would have involved lengthy surgery. Something never desirable in the case of head trauma." The doctor paused to try and get an idea if Dean was following him.

"Concussion, you put me under I stay under." Dean capsulised what the doctor said, "I get it."

"Exactly. We had to wait until the cascade affect past and you've had some recovery time." The doctor continued, "We have been making use of this time giving you whole blood, running tests taking X rays studying our options and we've created this team."

"And the bottom line is?" Dean pushed, _'Enough beating around the bush dude.'_

"As you are aware your injuries are serious."

Dean waved a hand back and forth, "I'm not aware." He said to the doctor and tried to find his father but since John pulled away from the bed when the doctors arrived he was lost from view, "Dad?"

"Sorry Ace, these guys showed up sooner than I expected." John said uncomfortably.

John wanted to have this conversation in private. He sat at Dean's left side and was rather annoyed that though the doctors stepped away from the bed they didn't leave the room.

"Son I'm afraid there's some bad news here." John began hesitantly

"I look surprised?" Dean was getting tired of talking, every word sent a shot of stabbing pain through his head and he was loosing what little patients he had.

"You can see you have a broken arm. The knee is smashed, ligaments and tendons torn and bones broken." John gave it to him straight.

Dean's voice caught in his throat as he tried to speak. Pain was now secondary to horror. A cripple? Dean could not live as a cripple. It was just not something he could do in general practice but more than that he had a mission to accomplish. How could he stop Armageddon and kill Azazel as a cripple?

Dean took several calming breaths, waited a moment them tried to speak again, "Smashed? My knee is smashed?"

"There are broken bones in your face and it's cut up and there maybe damage to the eye, there's evidence of bleeding in the eye." John pushed to get it over with, not wanting to drag out the pain.

_'Blind, you probably took out one of my eyes too? Why? You could fight possession why not this. Because it was partly you.'_

Images of his fathers face twisted and ugly with rage and hate coming at him kept flashing in Dean's mind

"I can't do this dad." Dean whispered, "Leave."

"I'm sorry, I know this is hard son but we have to do this." John urged after a moment of stunned silence.

"Please dad, just go." Dean said louder.

"I'm not leaving you alone, son." John insisted, "We're going to get through this together."

"This is about what I need and I need to be alone!" Dean yelled despite the agony moving his jaw and raising his voice caused.

"What you need to do is calm down. Don't loose it Ace, stay strong. I'll get you through this." John began his standard pep talk for 'badly hurt in the hospital' but something began to buzz in his ear and the anger began to rise again.

"I don't want to hear it." Dean snapped unable to cope with his dad's routine. Nothing was routine about this. "This isn't about you it's about me. Dad go."

The voices became more persistent with every word Dean spoke, John could almost understand what they were saying. The anger was slowly rising clouding his reason and making his muscles twitch with the need to act. John gripped the side rails of the bed shaking it making Dean yelp with pain. It felt good and that sickened John.

"You're right Ace. I have to get out of here now." John agreed desperate to get away before he acted on the vile impulses.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mr. Tucker." Dr. Bradshaw stepped in, "Do you need any help." and he pointed to the door.

John looked over to find two security guards waiting to show him out. 'What the Hell is this?' he wondered, 'They were prepared. This is a very bad sign.'

"What's going on, I can't see?" Dean asked.

"The doc's called security." John told him and whispered, "He thinks I need help finding the door ."

Dean looked back and forth between the doctor and his father. 'He knows.' Dean thought, 'He knows. We didn't fool him for one dammed second. He's seeing right through us. Oh shit. We're so screwed.'

"I'll get some help and be back as soon as I can." John gave him a smile. "Don't worry Ace, I'll handle this."

This just keeps getting better. The doctors gathered around his bed and suddenly Dean wished he could make a tactical retreat. Now what? This couldn't be good, everyone was trying too hard to be reassuring.

"Mr. Tucker, or may I call you Mac?" Dr. Bradshaw asked.

"Whatever works for you. I answer to, hey dude." Dean offered thinking 'Oh yah this is going to be bad. Maybe just this once I could ask for painkillers'

"I think I like this guy." Dr. Foss grinned again.

"Mac, some important decisions have to be made and quickly." Dr. Bradshaw got right to the point, "There has already been a thirty nine hour delay in surgery. In eye surgery that is acceptable but in orthopaedics every delay is costly."

"My knee."

"And your face." Said Dr. Foss taking the lead. "I'm Dr. Foss, I work in Denver's General Hospital and I have a private practice there. Dr. Milkirck called me after seeing you in the E.R. and asked me to take the case. A few X-rays later I flew down. Putting you're face back together is going to require a little work, some time and patience."

"Patience, I'm in trouble." Dean moaned.

"That's okay I'm the one that needs the patience. I'll explain what I'm going to do. Stop if I loose you. The bones in your face have to be set and fixed into position with plastic forms. To my left is Dr. Milkirk an ophthalmologist, she's helped me on a few faces I have rebuilt. That's what I do. I don't make people pretty. I restore people to their natural appearance. People who are disfigured in an accident or fire or by an act of violence. Or sometimes my patients are people born with some terrible defect. I won't make you over I'll put you back the way you were. Does that work for you?"

"My wallet near by?" Dean asked.

A nurse who came in after John left, handed it to him and Dean pulled out a picture of himself and Sam taken a year ago at a bar. He didn't have to look for it. Dean put it in the first card jacket so it would be visible every time he opened his wallet. Sam actually managed a smile for the camera. Dean handed it to Dr. Foss and tried to grin.

"Don't mess with perfection." Dean managed a chuckle.

Dr. Foss let out a good laugh and passed the picture around. "You're the short one right?"

"That over grown kid is my little brother." Dean forced through his teeth, "I'm the good looking one and I'd like to stay that way."

"Got yah. Not messing with the mans face." He promised, "Don't let this young face fool you. I promise you I'm very good at what I do."

"You're young, good." Dean said with all sincerity, "By the time a Doctor's a renowned expert he's old news. The young up and commer is cutting edge with all the latest and greatest."

"Now that's settled. I definitely like this kid. Very smart guy." Dr. Foss said with an ear to ear grin.

"That was an approval of Dr. Foss as your reconstructive surgeon, and his associate Dr. Milkirk has worked with Dr Foss on a number of occasions in facial reconstruction were the orbital bones were damaged. She will be assisting."

"In this case it is not a high probability that the eye is threatened but we know there is bleeding in the lens." Dr. Milkirk took up the conversation.

Dean listened as attentively as he could to the gentle educated voice as she explained about miner capillaries, blood vessels and then moved on to the importance of rotator muscles and a possible blow out fracture of an orbital bone. Dean lost her at blow out fracture.

"You have fractures in the zygomatic and mazilla bones of the face." She went on, "The zygomatic known as the cheek bone, is an orbital bone, it's part of your eye socket and there appeared to be muscle damage and possible lens damage." On and on she went until Dean had to raise his hand.

"Doc., Doc please. You're giving me the extended directors edition." he told her, "Try editing for content." Dean waited but when only silence follow he offered. "How about the abridged version." She looked for guidance in the faces of the other doctors.

Doctor Milkirk was, a slightly heavily shaped female form standing next to the relaxed, trim figure of Doc Foss. She had a pleasant kind voice Dean found easy to listen to. Though entirely secure in her knowledge of medicine she didn't seem to be terribly secure about anything else or at least was very insecure in her ability to communicate using words not in the medical dictionary.

"T M I?" Dean tried

She stared at Foss her posture screaming help.

"To much information." He translated for her managing to hide his grin, just a little.

The doctor stared at Foss for a minute then squared her shoulders and lost all her professional manner. "You got one hell of a shiner and it is more than swollen and black. You have some broken bones muscle damage that type of stuff. We can, using plastic, repair the bones, stitch up the torn muscles and with luck fix everything, but no guarantees."

"But you gotta try." Dean unknowingly gave her the go ahead.

"I'll do my best." Dr. Milkirk promised with a grin and a nod.

"Now the knee and arm." Dean turned to the orthopaedic surgeon.

"The left humerus has a simple fracture five inches below the rotator cuff. Immobilizing the arm should be sufficient to insure it mends cleanly. You're leg however has numerous challenges." Dr. Ricker began in a very business like manner. "Both the tibia and fibula have spiral fractures both of which can be difficult by themselves and they are perilously close to the joint. The femur has a comminute fracture and again it is dangerously close to the knee. The patella and the cartilage in your knee are beyond salvaging…"

Dean raised his hand signalling her to stop. "I understand some of that. Lay person here. Try again, use little words."

Dr. Foss really tried not to laugh but it was so hard. It wasn't just what Dean said though that was amusing enough, it was the mortified expression on Dr. Ricker.

"Mr. Tucker this is very serious." The doctor reprimanded him for his 'levity' "I will have to set the fractures. The comminuted fracture will require a plate and I will have to stabilize the spiral fractures with a rod to insure uniform healing. I will have to completely rebuild the knee which will include reattaching the collator ligaments and the tendons using pins. I will need to replace the cartilage with a plastic disc and implant a synthetic patella and very likely a synthetic supra patellar pouch."

Again Dean franticly waved his hand, and said , "In English please."

"Mr. Tucker. Your body has been brutally assaulted please take this seriously."

"No shit lady!" Dean snapped back. "What was your first clue?" He indicated some bandages then asked, "What makes you think I didn't notice?"

Dr. Ricker's elevated nose levered off a little, "I apologize if I sounded trite. I am simply trying to educate you about your injuries and the treatment I intend to use. Before I operate it is important that you understand as much a possible about what I'm going to do."

"Great plan, now explain it, like you're talking to a child."

Dr. Foss bowed his head and hunched his shoulders to hide his laughter and Dr. Milkirk turned away from the bed. Did they know something Dean didn't because he wasn't looking for laughs. He wished he could see her face, her expression. It would help in understanding what her problem was.

"Mr. Tucker, this is becoming absurd. I did not come in here to deal with a child. I have explained everything. Dr. Bradshaw, if you will excuse me I have an operation to prepare for."

"No you don't. You're fired." Dean canned her.

"You can't dismiss me." Dr. Ricker stammered charging back to the bed.

One look at the X-rays told Dr. Ricker she found the case that would make her career. Multiple injuries involving complex fractures and the knee requiring multiple surgeries and rot with complications the principle one being knee surgery requires physical therapy the day following surgery, something fractures don't allow for. Earl Tucker virtually demanded it all be done all at once and swore his son was strong enough to endure the therapy that would be required. If she could rebuild the knee while setting the fractures without complications and in one surgery it would be a triumph. She could make her first great mark in orthopaedics before she was thirty-five. This ridiculous child was not going to take this from her.

"We have hours of complex surgery ahead of us if your leg is going to be saved and the longer you wait the worse it gets. These ridiculous games are only hurting you. You're not a child."

"No I'm not a child, and I'm not a miner detail you can just shrug off either." Dean roared back

He had to stop a moment. Raising his voice sent daggers through his head that exploded in his brain. His headache redefined migraine and he was afraid he would throw up. Dean indulged in some pain controlling breathing and mentally separated himself from his body and was amazed that he could do it. Thank you Quradu. In control again Dean returned his attention to the doctor.

"How can I trust anyone who thinks I don't matter?" Dean demanded of the fuzzy image, "Going into an operating room with no idea of what's going to happen does not sound like a plan. Damn it this is my body, you want to carve it up, tell me what you got in mind and with a little respect."

The silence that followed was long and painful. Even Dr. Foss was solemn having never witnessed a college so severely dressed down by a patient. Dr. Ricker took several steps away from the bed turning her back taking time to compose herself. A lesser doctor would be preparing to amputate such a leg but Emily Ricker knew she could save it and Earl Tucker was so insistent, assuring her it was what his son would want, and that he would be able to endure the pain of physical therapy. She now had proof that Mackenzie Tucker was not weak. Emily would have to win his trust back if she was going to have the case that would bring her to the attention of the world of orthopaedics. Besides, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She had treated him badly, and the fact that most people just say yes doctor and let her do as she wished was no excuse. Dr. Ricker straitened her back and returned to her patient standing close so he could see at least to a point and held her pencil close to his face.

"Mr. Tucker, a simple fracture as most people understand it, the bone breaks like this." she snapped her pencil in half, "But in a spiral fracture the break is twisted, the break is diagonal if you will." Dean nodded saying he 'had that', "Stability difficulties are common place with this type of fracture. You have two of these close to the joint on your Tibia your shin, and your fibula, the calf bone. On your Femur you have a comminute fracture, it's broken in several pieces. I will." she paused, "It is my intention to stabilize the spiral fractures with a rod and the comminuted fracture with a plate. Now ligaments are…."

"I know what they are and they're pretty torn up are they?"

"Yes. You're knee was broken at an angle causing tearing and detachment. They will have to be reattached with pins, pins will also be needed to secure the …."

The doctor went on explaining everything and was surprised to find how much her patient already understood and could grasp given care and a little patience. Things went very smoothly until the subject of traction came up. Earl Tucker had said that wasn't an option and approved the alternative but no one believed Mac would accept it. It was a brace that had been devised decades ago for athletes who weren't willing to take the time to go through the various stages of mending and therapy. There were many excellent braces available that could be used in time to deal with medial and lateral instability but combining the need for support and immobilization of the fractures with the need for physical therapy for the joint required traction supported movement of the joint which drastically slowed down the progress of physical therapy. Or the horrific brace. It telescoped from ankle to thigh to stabilize the breaks then the added knee attachment would hold the jointed brace in place above and below the joint with bolts set in the bone to allow movement of the joint without a fraction of movement of the leg bones insuring stability of the fractures. The pressure on the bolts resulted in far greater pain than traction and traction was painful enough. The brace was seldom used and often removed when it was. That they were able to locate the brace attachments at all was a miracle.

"I don't think you appreciate what is involved." The doctor tried to reason with Dean, "I would have to use a combination of cast and brace to immobilize and support the femur and tibia to insure the breaks mend properly. The knee however cannot be simply set at an angle and left to heal. I'm more than rebuilding it I'm recreating it. Some parts are original some not. We must be very careful in therapy to insure movement while not putting undue pressure on the fractures or the ligaments. The brace has been suggested…. " Doctor Ricker went on to described the horrific contraption, "The pain will be constant. Medication will not be able to eliminate it and most important to you I'm sure is the risk factors are high."

"Pain and I are old friends Doctor, I know it well." When Dean saw she was going to argue he asked, "How much pain do you think I'm in right know?"

Dean was covered in a sheen of sweat, his one visible eye was glazed over and his unbound hand was twitching. More over the doctor understood the nature of his injuries and knew the morphine would no more than take the edge off his suffering, yet he was completely lucid, communicating with them in a coherent manner. The only tell tale signs were the sweat and the slight trembling. This was one very focused young man.

"I see your point." the doctor admitted.

"As for the risk, I need to be mobile but I'm not planning any marathons so are we good to go?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to make it a matter of record that I appose the use of the brace." Emily felt the need to inform every one.

"Understood and I respect your position but my circumstances dictate a different choice." Dean made his position clear.

The anaesthesiologist Dr. Parker was up last but Dean had heard it all before so there were no surprises. The doctors left him alone to scrub up for surgery while the anaesthesiologist did his work. As they left his room a nurse and orderly were waiting to take him to pre-op and Dean just let it all happen. As he counted down from one hundred he began to pray.

Dr. Ricker was up first taking hours in surgery drilling and aligning bones then removing damaged parts and substituting artificial replacements. Dr. Ricker was a focused no nonsense surgeon, very precise in her every move and painstakingly thorough. No detail was overlooked, nothing too miner to examine. It made for long quiet hours in the O.R. but no one could question the quality of her work.

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness aware only of pain and mechanical noises until again he was wheeled into the O.R. Dr. Foss was equally conscientious in the performance of his craft but possessed and artists mind set. An artist who loved his work and liked to have others as involved as he was. It made for a far more comfortable atmosphere for the staff but to Dean's body it was more long hours of slicing and dicing putting a strain on his heart and nervous system. Everyone knew the risks in having long extensive surgeries back to back but bones would heal as they willed if not attended to.

When Dean left the operating theatre without crashing Dr. Foss put an arm around Dr. Parker and another around Dr. Milkirk and cheered, "My God, we're brilliant."

When Dean opened his eye with any kind of mental clarity he could see he was in a private room, small, simple and neat, with the standard bed side table, tray on wheels and closet that exists in every room in every hospital. Then there was the chair usually beside the bed. In this case it was surprisingly comfortable as sometimes happens and was pulled up to the window so the bed and the door could be watched at the same time. The vale over his eye was still there but Dean could see the out line of things a little clearer. Even at this distance he could identify John setting with his head slightly bowed, studying a folder of papers. Dean knew his father noticed the minute he had stirred. He understood if his dad wasn't eager to talk to him and didn't disturb him.

He turned his attention to the window. It was late in the day, white fluffy clouds dotted a darkening sky. He watched the sky and waited for sun set. Dean usually preferred stars to suns and fluffy clouds but they would do as a substitute if nothing else was to be had. If he worked at it hard enough maybe watching a sky slowly turn red just might keep him from becoming lost in thought. There was so much he didn't want to think about. Weren't sunsets supposed to be one of God's majestic wonders?

Dean could see blurs of colours yellows, reds and orange all blending together atop a patch of green with tall poles or were they trees. He strained and squinted, it was so hard to tell. Dean remember a few times when he saw double or was a little blurry for a little while. It came with a number of types of injuries but he wasn't able to make out a face since he woke up in the hospital. Dean would never again take his sight for granted. As he continued to try to identify the images out the window a white blur began to dance across the window swooping and looping around in dizzying patterns. Now this was weird, almost entertaining. He started making a list of what it could be. A bird, a kite, a remote control plane, no not a kite. What else would move like that. Suddenly the object swooped to the window sill and landed.

"What the fuck?" Dean muttered startling John for his papers and eliciting a start from a nurse that just entered the room.

Dean pointed to the white blob on the window sill and asked the nurse, "What exactly is that?"

"Oh my, a pure white dove. They are so rare, they're almost unheard of in the wild " she breathed looking out the window, "Amazing."

A funny feeling tickled and poked at his stomach. Dean knew what doves represented and suddenly didn't want it dancing on his window sill. There were aspects of his meeting with the oracle he found disturbing, he didn't need dancing doves to further unbalance him. The nurse's voice smiled and said the Doctor would be in to see him shortly. Dean didn't want to know which one. They could surprise him. As she left the room John rose from his chair.

"You going to stay awake this time, Ace?" John asked with a smile.

Dean was pleased his father wasn't growling considering the way he yelled at him to leave.

"Maybe, I feel pretty steady right now. I'm sorry I lost it." Dean quickly apologized, "I wasn't being fair to you. I guess I kinda freaked."

"I don't blame you Dean." John assured him, "And I'm sorry I lost it too. I got a very powerful hex bag and a couple of protection charms to keep this thing under control.

"It was coming back wasn't it?" Dean asked for confirmation.

"Yes, it seems to come back if I get even the slightest upset." John admitted wanting his son warned and if he could manage it armed.

"I'm sorry dad." Dean apologized again feeling guilty for bringing it on again.

"Damn it Dean stop apologizing. None of this is your fault." John snapped irritated by his son's habit of taking the blame, "You know this isn't really my fault either. Something out there is going through it's paces or we pissed something off and it's getting revenge. That thing or whatever, is at fault not us. Are we clear on this?"

John could feel something, but not like before, it was distant, struggling to take hold. As before it seemed to attached itself to any kind of heightened emotion, or perhaps aggressive emotions. This was a good clue. It also proved the charms or hex bag was working. John began to breath a little easier for the first time since he came to his senses in the motel room and realized what he'd done.

There on the floor bloodied and broken by his own hand lay the boy that had seen him through his worst hours. Faithful Dean, for all his rebellious antics of late, had come back as he said he would. Why had he doubted it? Dean was always at his side, stalwart and eager for the fray yet strangely steady. Dean's remarkable ability to stay his course come hell or high water, made him John's compass and there it lay broken by his own hand. Nothing he had ever seen, nothing he ever fought, filled him with more horror than that sight. He could hear sirens, someone had called nine, one, one . For once John was grateful someone was paying attention.

John had seen his son hurt numerous times and it was always upsetting. This had been devastating. He worked his way through the guilt well enough. Having told many a possession victim they weren't responsible for the demon's action, he was able to remind himself. Every time he looked at his broken knuckles or saw the images of the demon fury in his minds eye he chanted the refrain "not me" until the fact mattered. But Dean was going to be alright, and his constant assurances that he understood was washing way all vestiges of that night. Now all he had to do was destroy the threat and all would be well.

Why did the buzzing in his ears seem to be laughing at him?

* * *

*** The description of all injuries and medical treatment are accurate except the brace. Though braces of this type do exist I am not aware of one being used in this fashion nor can I be certain that breaks and joint rebuilding would be preformed at the same time due to the need for immediate therapy for the knee. (I know from personal experience joint replacement requires immediate therapy)**

**** Sorry there was no Sam in this one but circumstances didn't permit.**

*****This is a very long chapter (I think) would you find this story easier to read if they were shorter? Please let me know.  
**


	9. Chapter 9 A War Of Wills

I **borrowed Sam and Dean again and I hope you like what we did together.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

**A WAR OF WILLS**

Dean wasn't awake and coherent more than and hour before he had Doctors Bradshaw, Kilkirk and Dr. Ricker around him pocking and prodding and humming and hawing. Dean was never a patient, patient at the best of times and these were not the best of times. His head throbbed, most every inch of his body hurt and if that wasn't enough the anaesthetic was making his stomach turn.

"Alright folks you've given me the once over." Dean spoke to them all, "Now what's the verdict?"

"Do you want a quick over view or the whole list?" Dr. Bradshaw asked.

"I'll go with the list but if it gets too boring we'll switch to quick and dirty, okay? " Dean suggested and was pleased to hear his father .

"Dean are you capable of proper respect?" He asked trying to sound stern and almost succeed.

"No, I'm hopeless." he replied, "But charming, very charming."

"And so modest." John added.

"We'd better stop, my face hurts when I smile." Dean called a halt to the repartee, "Hit me with it Doc."

There were thirty-nine stitches in his head, several gashes on his arm taking fourty-two stitches, three gashes on his chest, at this point Dean asked them to stop telling him how many stitches. There were a series of odd small wounds on his lower back. Stitches, stitches every where. Dad had really gone nuts with the tequila bottle. The biggest concerns right now were his right eye and a bruised kidney. They would be watching his renal out put closely for the next few days. They were very hopeful the kidney could make a full recover. The eye would take a lot longer and the worry was lens damage. Just what Dean wanted to hear. An Ophthalmologist would be stopping by to check on his progress soon but they were optimistic. Everyone was so optimistic Dean was ready to choke on their positive feelings.

He was relieved when Dr. Foss came bursting into the room wanting to know what had been said about his brilliant work. The energetic Doctor was the perfect cure for the sugar heavy mood in the room. He informed Dean that his stitching was so precise and fine that there should be nothing more than fine white lines within a year, well maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but not much.

"I'll be walking around with scares on my face for a year?" Dean said more than asked weakly, "But they will …. eventually be real hard to see?"

As the doctors begun their report John took Dean's hand in his and placed the other on his son's arm. Through out the long description of his injuries John alternately patted and squeezed Dean's arm. Offering what little comfort he could. It was as much attention as Dean would accept, perhaps more. John squeezed his hand and held it tight.

"They fade over time." John stated, and pulled up a sleeve to reveal a long ugly scar, "It won't be like this. Within a year they'll be virtually invisible."

"Not virtually, in time they will be gone." Dr Foss confirmed, "The first months will be the worst. Even with the fine precise type of stitching a plastic surgeon uses there will be initial scaring but because we suture the skin so carefully and evenly they heal and fade quickly and eventually completely."

"So for a while, I'm going to find out how the other half lives." Dean took it on the chin, "Any other good news for me?"

"I balanced your cheeks perfectly which is unusual because most peoples faces aren't balanced but now yours is." He said with a chuckle. "Some slivers of plastic have been slipped in under the muscles of your cheek bone. You'll find some discomfort for a little while. There was damage to the bone and believe it or not I had to do more in order to do repairs. Then there's the muscle damage that had to be repaired and pal there was quite a bit. There was nothing gentle about that hack job. Now what that all adds up to is no stake dinners for a while. Got it? Soft foods."

Dean groaned, "You're killing me Doc. For a carnivorous animal like me that's torture."

"You try to chew on a T bone right now and you won't want to bite down on anything for a month." Dr. Foss assured him.

"Send me a pretty nurse and I'll prove you wrong." answered Dean.

Not a man in the room didn't find the quip funny. Even Dr. Kilkirk had a giggle and someone thought they saw a smile on Dr. Ricker. 'Half dead and I've still got it.' Dean thought. There was one other pressing matter before him. His leg was suspended in a harness of a very specific variety known as traction. It wasn't supposed to be.

"Dr. Ricker we did agree that I'm supposed to be in a brace. I remember that so, what's this?" Dean asked.

"This is where I depart." said Dr. Foss heading for the door, "Not that I don't enjoy your company Mac I do. It's just that I'm basically a coward. How about you Abby?"

"Also a coward." Dr. Kilkirk hurried after him.

Dr. Ricker did have a very good explanation for the traction rather than the brace. Though the surgery was a complete success it was quickly apparent that attaching the brace at that moment would put stress on the fractures even the rod or the plate would not be able to tolerate. Time was needed for collagen fibre to form and begin to mineralize, the first stage of bone regeneration. She is waiting a month to put the brace on.

"That's how long you would like to wait but when can you put on the brace without damaging your work?" John asked in his most authoritarian voice.

After some argument John gave her a week.

"Just a minute Mr. Tucker but your son is not a miner. He must make his own medical decisions and those are the ones I will follow." Doctor Ricker rallied.

"I beg your pardon?" John jumped to his feet but Dean didn't let go of his hand and tugged at it, "Doctor my son and I are in agreement here." Dr. Ricker didn't blink, "Fine Ace, you tell her."

"Doctor I appreciate you concern but I have to be mobile as soon as possible." Dean confirmed his fathers statement.

Dr. Ricker accepted reluctantly with a polite 'very well' but Dr. Foss came in and whispered in her ear after handing her a piece of paper. He didn't leave right away but placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She seemed to accept his kindness and was about to leave, but stopped. She hesitated then squared her shoulders and marched up to Dean.

"Mr. Tucker, I have a request to make." She said with all the dignity she could muster, "I have the opportunity to …. There are colleges important in my field who will be here for a few days…."

"And you want to play show and tell but the leg won't show that well with the brace on it." Dean cut to the chase. "Is that it Doc?"

"You may not appreciate the position we are in." Dr. Ricker sniffed her dignity bruised.

Dean's limited vision didn't allow him to see the offended expression on Dr. Ricker's face or the uncomfortable posture of the other doctors over his choice of words. And he didn't see their shock when he continued.

"I totally appreciate. I know damned well this leg could be in the incinerator. You'd be nuts not to show off with it. Doctor understand that mobility is an issue for me."

"I see." She cleared her throat.

"So these dudes coming to ooow and awe over your brilliance, when do they leave? How many days do I have to sit and wait?"

The doctor smiled, "They will be arriving on the seventeenth. Would you consider waiting till the twenty-first?"

"Dean." John warned.

"I know it's another week but." Dean began.

"No Dean." John's voice grew more insistent, as he rose to his feet.

"Two weeks makes a stronger leg than one and it's for the lady that saved it." Dean pressed, "I don't think that's to much."

"Dean!" John barked and slammed the railing of the bed.

The bed frame bounced jostling the bed and framework that was part of the traction and Dean as well. He gasped as the sudden jerking of the bed jostled his many injures and made his leg jump.

The room was suddenly alive with intensity and motion. Dr. Bradshaw grabbed a nurse and sent her urgently out the door with instructions to bring security then rushed to Dean's side. Dr. Foss shoved John back who came within inches of hitting the doctor while Dr. Ricker steadied the leg examining everything to make sure there was no damage.

"Dad? Are you alright?" Dean called unable to see or hear him, "Hit the wall or something okay?"

On impulse John did just that giving the wall several good poundings with the side of his fist before bringing himself under control. He took a big shuttering breath and hung his head as he openly wiped tears from his face.

"Dad?" Dean called again, growing distressed by the silence that followed the banging.

"I'm alright, Ace." John answered, "But I think I should get out of here."

"Maybe you should get some rest." Dean suggested, "Have you slept since I got here? Do you even remember?"

"March 31st smart ass." John grinned.

"Now tell me what day it is."

"Think you're smart kid." John chuckled taking a few steps toward Dean.

To John's grate relief Dr. Foss let him pass without objection even if he did stand protectively beside him by the bed.

"Oh hell I'm brilliant."

John bend down and brushed his lips to Dean's temple and whispered 'I'm sorry son' . Then took a couple of steps away. Despite the fact that John brought himself under control the doctors were glad to see a security guard at the door.

"You can have your week, Ace, but I think I should warn you. The lady's wearing a wedding ring."

"Bite me."

"What was that?" John growled as he walked to the door.

"Bite me, Sir."

John walked out the door laughing. The minute he was gone a tear trickled down Dean's cheek. Whether it was a curse or spell it was something they hadn't encountered before and therefore his interference brought this on. Or was it was just the changes in Dean, challenging his father that pushed John from barely holding it together to over the edge. However he sliced it, it was his fault. Dean closed his eye and tried to push aside guilt in favour of finding solutions but a few stray tears forced their way out and trickled down his cheek. Much to Dean's embarrassment Dr. Bradshaw proved to be very observant. The good doctor took a tissue and gently dabbed at Dean's cheek.

"Hey I'm sorry for the family drama." Dean rallied quickly, "Ahum, hey, Dr. Ricker it looks like you got you're week but the brace goes on the hour those hot shots are gone. We got a deal?" he asked and offered her his hand.

"I am in your debt Mr. Tucker. I'll schedule the surgery this minute." Dr Ricker took his extended hand.

She like everyone else in the hospital believed there was no mugger. A boy half his age would have resulted in an outpouring of outrage, indignation and above all action. The medical files would have been made up within hours, the charges filed and social services doors banged on demanding action for this poor child. For Dean medical records were requested by the sheriff's department but they were not rushed as charges could not be pressed without his cooperation. Children's services need not be troubled. Though there was a degree of outrage it was tempered by the question, "Why doesn't he leave?" For Dr. Ricker such cases were a function of her profession that she approached with the same meticulous execution that she did everything else. Work was about professional achievement and the advancement of medical science. Her heart was at home with her husband and future children. It was in her view best if the twain did not meet. Dr. Ricker found herself looking at this patient as something more than an exorcise in science and it was a little alarming, but no one would ever call her a coward. She took his hand and for the first time in her career made human contact with a patient.

Dr. Riker ended the conference with I'll let you get some rest and they left Dean alone with his thoughts. Alone with his thoughts was not something he really wanted at that moment. This was one more thing he would have to bear the burden of guilt for. Because of him the past few months were peppered with hunts they hadn't done before and any one of them could be responsible for whatever was affecting his father. He had come back to save his family and it seem all he was doing was destroying their lives. If those witches cursed dad with out of control anger he was virtually incurable. Dean knew of nothing and no one that could lift a curse. If he was the worlds only hope of avoiding the Apocalypse with his current track record history would be repeating itself.

* * *

Sam visited the psychiatric ward of Mercy hospital most every day checking up on his friend, Brady. The trips were both a necessity and ordeal for him. It was painful to see Brady lost in his belief that he was insane and not be able to tell him he wasn't. The fear in Brady's eyes as he spoke of his delusions and how he was waiting for them to come back was heart breaking. Brady had been a bright eager student with ambitions of making it on Wall Street. He eyes would shine when he spoke of his future as a trader, socializing with the rich and powerful and partying with the beautiful people. Once more, Brady had the energy, the commitment and the grade point average to make his dreams come true. Seeing Sam each day, seeing he hadn't destroyed everything in his life, seemed to cheer he up and Sam was happy to do at least that much. Brady was even happier when Jessica came with Sam. Though he had vague memories of introducing them, Brady had no memory of meeting her but, seeing them together convinced him he did one thing right during his lost days.

Jessica had a powerful affect on the patient. He lit up when she entered the room. Spending so much time with Jessica was a bitter sweet experience. She was so understanding and patient when Sam told her he couldn't think about of a serious relationship with so many family problems to deal with. She tried to tell him he should let her be his support, that she could see him through these difficult times. Sam wanted to grab her, hold her, tell her if anyone one could give him the strength to brazen out any crisis it was the beautiful woman in his arms, but he could only smile and say no. That he would only be neglectful of her and ruin what they had. He would rather remember the good things they shared than ruin everything. It was Jessica who used the killer phrase, we can still be friends. Sam might have for her sake made the separation a little more finite, if it hadn't been for Brady.

Dean's call about their dad was both shocking and heartbreaking. Though he never explained how he was he hurt Dean sounded weak and tired and admitted to a little pain which meant he was in a lot of pain. He said his leg was hurt so it was probably broken and his face was banged up screwing up his eye sight which meant his eye was swollen shut or his nose broken for the first time in his life. Dean shrugging it off, nothing new there, but when he spoke of dad Sam felt a chill in his spine.

"I can't say what it is, a spell, a hex a curse or maybe a demon." Dean admitted to being at a loss, "I think it's probably a demon thing."

"If he's possessed get help Dean." Sam insisted, "You were great with Brady but this is dad we're talking about. Get help."

"Still no confidence in me, Sammy." Dean sighed, he was depressed enough he didn't need more disappointment, "I said demon problem, he's not possessed, hell I wouldn't be guessing I'd know."

"I don't get it." Sam puzzled, "With demons it's either possessed or dead isn't it?"

"No there's a lot of different types of demon's. Come on Sammy you know this. Just because you're in school doesn't mean you can slack off. Stay sharp dude. This is about what I did. Exorcising Brady may have been a dumb move. It let them know I was on to them and they may be trying to weaken us. Take out the opposition. In other words, I did this to dad."

"You couldn't leave Brady like that, you save people remember." Sam hurried to comfort Dean, "We'll figure this out with dad. He's one tough bastard, he'll get through this. What exactly is happening to him."

"Something's pushing his buttons making him angry, irrational." Dean kept it simple, "I should have used my head. At least I knew who the demon was. Now somebody's watching you and I don't know who it is. Maybe I should have left it alone."

"Dean, I didn't even believe you till you exorcised Brady." Sam came to the rescue again, "What's the point of being a hunter if you don't save people? Isn't that why you do it? You saved him and I'll always be grateful for that. Besides they need me for something so they won't hurt me, right?"

"Right. Thanks Sammy, you do good pep talks." Dean said feeling a little better. "Are you going to classes, studying and shit?"

"Yah and shit."

"Well try to have some fun dude. Don't mop after Jessica. She might come running back to you if she see's you're miserable." Dean assumed Sam broke up with her. "Do the soldier thing and keep moving forward."

"I'm trying." Sam answered trying to sound positive for Dean's sake but couldn't hold it and admitted, "Sometimes I feel like an inmate on death row. In an incredibly gilled cell but still waiting for the end. But I'm still better off than Brady. Dean he was a great guy, and a good friend. He had plans, he was going places. Now he thinks he's insane and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Sammy, Sammy, just blame it all on drugs." Dean suggested "Say he was on some bad shit, psychotropic stuff, but he has nothing to worry about now cause he's clean and everything's cool."

"Brady didn't take drugs." Sam groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Better, he was at a party and was naive and innocent enough to do the I'll try it just this once. It turned out to be bad shit and scrambled his brains so he didn't know enough to quit. He remembers taking drugs right? I mean the demon was into that scene right?"

"That could work." Sam agreed, "I'll have to flesh it out a bit, but it could work."

"Good uhm, look Sammy, if I could have let you live the dream, waited to the last minute to tell you, believe me I would have." Dean said grief in his voice, "But then Jessica would be dead. I'm sorry Sammy."

"I know." Sam smiled into the phone, "It's okay Dean, remember, you saved my best friend and the girl I love. I'm not complaining."

"I'm sorry anyway. Watch your back little brother."

"You too big brother."

Sam hung up his phone still smiling. Dean had changed in the two years since he was gone. He couldn't put his finger on what it was but something was changed. There was a calm in him that was very new, he was steady, knew what he was doing, not just galloping after dad. It was good to see but Dean was a little sadder too. That part was unfortunate. Maybe Dean just needed some company, someone steady in his life. Like he had. They weren't dating anymore but she was still there for him and that made him very happy.

* * *

If it's a curse it can't be fixed and dads screwed for the rest of his life. The thought plagued Dean and he racked his brain looking for someone or something that might give him hope. It took an embarrassingly long time for Dean to stumble across the obvious.

"I'm an idiot." Dean muttered and pushed the nurses call button.

The nurse who responded to Dean's call was startled when he asked her for a pad, pencil and some privacy. With one eye swollen half shut and the other covered with a patch he was virtually blind, but it wasn't her place to inquire so she gave him what he asked. The moment she was out the door he drew Enochian symbols on a sheet of paper. Without the necessity of containing the Angel Dean was able to forgo creating a sanctified circle. Unable to see and using only one hand Dean could only hope he got the letters right as he began the chant to summon an Angel. He repeated it several times then waited. It would take time, perhaps days for Castiel to find his vessel. Dean wondered if it would be Jimmy Novak. It would be weird talking to Cass in a different body. It was early in the afternoon when Dean made the call, but it was quiet and dark when a hand touched his shoulder and a familiar voice called his name.

"Dean Winchester, you have summoned an Angle of the lord." Castiel's raspy voice penetrated Dean's fogy mind, "Dean Winchester."

"Yah Cass, give me a minute." Dean grumbled, "You're yanking me out of a dead sleep."

Dean forced his eyes open to find the outline of a man in a light coloured trench coat standing by the bed. He did get Jimmy again. Dean was pleased for himself but felt sorry for poor Jimmy. Any luck though and the devout man's experience wouldn't be as bad as the original.

"Hey Cass how's it hanging?" Dean asked.

"How is what hanging?" Castiel asked.

"Right, okay, first question. Do you remember me?" Dean's mind began to work.

"We have never met. Angels have not walked the earth for two thousand years." Castiel answered in his best dispassionate voice, "Why have you summoned and Angel of the Lord?"

"Because Angels will be walking the earth in five years." Dean answered, "And in six years so will Lucifer."

"You are not a profit." Cass stated, "How can you be privy to such knowledge?"

"I lived it, Cass. An oracle killed me and sent back in time to stop it."

"You can not change your destiny." Cass sang the Angel anthem.

"We did. You, me and my brother with some serious support from Bobby and Gabriel." Dean returned with a satisfied smirk, "Team free will won. We were all killed, you twice, Sam once and me three times but we did it."

"Killed twice? I do not understand."

"You were killed first by Rafael then by Lucifer. God kept resurrecting us. He wanted us to win." Dean continued his tale, something he honestly believed now, "You're reading my mind right? You told me to summon you and you'd know I was telling you the truth cause you'd read my mind."

"I will do so. Continue."

Dean went back to the beginning. The very beginning filling the Angel in on Azazel's great plan to create the perfect vessel for Lucifer and continued from there. Castiel was strangely quiet considering what Dean was telling him. Dean wished he could see Castiel. To see if this story would put an expression on his stoic friend's features. By the time Dean was finished Castiel had taken a seat.

"Cass, you still with me?" Dean asked when there was no response from the Angel, "Buddy, I'm half blind here, I can barely make you out." He waited, "Dude talk to me are you okay?"

"We, God's Angels, did not attempt to prevent the escape of Lucifer?" Cass asked for verification of what he heard.

"Stop it? Dude, they helped."

"And it was not God's will?"

"No it was their idea. They wanted to tear this world down and give it a makeover."

"God did not stop them?"

"He resurrected us so we could stop it." Dean answered choosing his words carefully.

"The host of heaven defying God's will. It is very distressing. I must warn my brothers of their folly."

"No you can't, you know that."

"I do not know that."

"You did, Cass, you told me not to spread the word. If Zachariah finds out he'll make sure the planet fries this time." Dean warned, wondering all of a sudden if this was a good idea.

Castiel's face hovered over Dean's as the Angel bored into his mind seeking truth. Something tangible to guide him. Castiel was a soldier created to serve and dedicated to obedience to God. He had always believed that in following the orders given to him by his superiors he was serving his father but if this human was telling the truth that was no longer the case and his entire way of life was an abomination.

"I must consider my actions carefully. Do not summon me again." Castiel told Dean.

"You told me to!" Dean snapped, "You wanted to know about the battles we fought, about our friendship and about freedom. You didn't want to go back to being who you are know. It's in you Cass."

"What is in me?" Castiel demanded, "To rebel, to disobey? To become an outcast hunted by my brothers? What is in me Dean Winchester."

"To use your own judgment. To make decisions on your own. To know what God's wants and what he doesn't. To stay faithful to God even if it means standing alone against Heaven. You told me choosing your own path was the most frightening this you ever did, your words. But that you didn't want to go back to ignorance. Listen to me. All of heaven didn't try to burn the earth. Most were just obeying orders. Like you they thought they were fighting the good fight."

Not one word was a lie. It was all there before him in the young human's mind. The strongest memories are often the most recent but others can linger. Castiel's first death was as fresh as the second. Castiel had died for this human and his cause. Twice. Both times it left a terrible wound on Dean's heart. And both times God did resurrect him. No greater proof would have been needed yet it was there. As he sat with Dean at Heaven's door he delivered a message to him from God. God spoke to him. Though he disobeyed, rebelled, even killed his brothers, he was faithful to God's will and nothing was more important than that.

"I must return to my garrison."

"Cass you have to believe me." Dean pleaded.

"I do believe you. I must return or my superiors will become suspicious. A can not aid you if I am imprisoned in Heaven."

"Right but you can keep in touch." Dean agreed, "You can walk into my dreams. No one will hear us then."

"Precisely."

"Cass, do you know of a way to break a curse?" Dean asked, finely able to address the reason he called Castiel.

"If you know who made the curse and their motives it is possible. On occasion. Not all curses can be lifted." Castiel delivered the bad news, maybe, "It is highly unlikely Lucifer's curse can be lifted. I suspect it's purpose is revenge upon you for his imprisonment."

"I sort of knew that. No it's my dad. It started about a week ago. If he gets even a little upset these voices start talking to him and a mindless rage takes over. My father did this to me." Dean told him what he knew, "Cass my dad went to hell for me. He wouldn't do this. Something's wrong there."

"You believe it is a curse."

"It's one possibility."

"I will try do discover what was done."

"My dad has files from a case he worked in Beaver Utah." Dean told Castiel, "There's a good chance that has something to do with this. If you could get copies for me, have a look at them yourself, maybe it'll help."

I will return." Castiel said and disappeared.

Dean hated when he did that. It wasn't a long wait but Dean couldn't look at a watch and it certainly felt long. When Castiel reappeared he had a handful of papers.

"Dean Winchester, you're father maybe suffering from a demon curse. I will have to verify my findings." Castiel told him as he looked at pictures of the sacrificial victims.

"That's great. Cass?" Dean stopped him before he could flutter away, "I want to save my dad. I have to, but keeping Lucifer in his cage comes first. So don't get caught snooping around for me."

"Snooping around?" Cass asked unable to decipher everything Dean said.

"Looking around for an answer. Be careful dude. You didn't like prison much."

"No. It can be unpleasant. I will, be careful."

"They're going to ask you why I called you. Telling them I'm looking for a cure for my dad won't be lying." Dean suggested.

"Yes, it is best I do not lie. I have no such skill." Castiel agreed.

"I would never have guessed." Dean oozed sarcasm.

Castiel vanished taking Dean's sense of helplessness with him. If anyone could find an answer it would be an Angel and he knew Cass was one Angel that was hard to stop.

Dean closed his eyes to sleep feeling a little less burdened but awoke to unpleasant news. John left a message telling him he would be back by the twenty-first. He was leaving Dean alone. Of course he would. He always did. Dean wondered way he would think John would stick around this time. Not even guilt could make him stay. Same old, same old.

Dean was on his own but he was rarely alone. There was physical therapy three times a day often supervise by the doctor herself. There were regular visits from Dr. Foss, a more pleasant experience, except when he had to repossession a plastic disk in his temple. Having the stitches removed wasn't very pleasant either. Though Dr. Foss advised against it Dean insisted on a mirror right after the stitches were out.

"Your face is still swollen and covered in bruises." the doctor warned.

"I've seen my face messed up before." Dean assured him, "Come on, let me see this brilliant work of yours."

He wasn't kidding. Dean's face was so discoloured and swollen it was heard to see the scares and the pink patch over one eye didn't help. As he required the patch for four to six weeks he was definitely replacing the pink one with a black one. Dean always had mixed feelings about his appearance. He'd been told by girls since he was twelve years old how good looking he was and was never afraid to take advantage of the fact. When it came to charming information or anything else out of a lady it was his greatest asset and one his father wasn't adverse to using either. His face was a tool, a means to an end and the biggest lie he ever told. He had a face woman loved but it was all he had to offer. When the only lovable thing about you is your face what is it really worth? Five days after his face was put back together Dean looked in a mirror and for the first time the image reflected what was inside. Something scared, disfigured and ugly.

"It gets better and quicker than you think." Doctor Foss assured him, "There are cosmetics specifically designed to cover scaring. The consultants can match your skin tones and teach you how to use them. I'll give you some names, and Mack, buy these specific cosmetics at least in the first six months. You lather on some of the face paint that's out there with all it's crazy additives that could do a lot of damage. Vitamin E is a popular additive that can make scars worse. Don't put anything on your face while there's anything resembling an open would or scabbing that isn't prescribed by me."

"So Vitamin E is bad?" Dean asked.

"Yes. That can make it worse but vitamin C has been known to help. Silicon gel sheeting goes a long way to reduce scaring, and triple-antibiotic ointment works wonders. I'll prescribe some for you but some of this stuff can be expensive."

"That's okay, I'm not as poor as I look." Dean tried to grin, but it wasn't very effective.

The doctor covered the side of Dean's face from the eye to the lip with an ointment and gauze, then another on his forehead and over his head to where the scalp scar perturbed below the hair line and another on the neck. He then showed Dean the silicone patches that would in time replace the ointment. It looked like a skin toned nicotine patch. At least the scares would be covered. That's what he'd do. For the next six months to a year he'd keep his face covered with silicone patches.

"How long can I keep using these sheets?" Dean asked.

"At some point you have to let the air at your scars or they won't heal properly." Foss delivered the bad news then said his goodbyes. "Tomorrow."

Dr. Foss was always positive promising good days ahead and Dr Ricker was pleased with his progress which was uplifting. The therapists were a nightmare of pain but they were producing the results. The Detective, Dan Philips, that questioned Dean in the ER came back a couple of times trying to convince him to press charges but eventually gave up. The thorn in Dean's side was Dr. Bradshaw's contribution to his on going therapy. In the case of trauma patients counselling was required as long a he was at the hospital. Rules. Dean had his doubts but he didn't want to stir up the waters by challenging the doctors veracity or refusing the 'support'. Every day for an hour and a half before afternoon therapy Dean had a visit from a psychologist. Margaret Newton was a quietly intelligent, congenial, woman who reminded him a little of a middle aged Angela Landsberry.

She came every day to talk to him about his dad and when she found pulling lion's teeth would be easier than getting information out of him she still kept coming. She brought a deck of cards and taught him to play a few games other than poker. Her sense of humour, the lack of pressure and her willingness to put up with his smart ass answers made her a pleasant alternative to daytime TV. But he had to admire her persistence. She never stopped asking questions. Fortunately they changed daily. Coming up with new answers to the same old question would have become an ordeal. She was willing to talk about other things often changing the subject herself. He could see the wisdom in her gentle eyes and schooled voice and knew there was something to every question she asked. Dean felt it was safest to answer as truthfully as possible, but with as little information as he could get away with. He didn't doubt this lady could see through a lie like a pain of glass so he did his best not to. Lies would only lead to more questions, feasibly more dangerous ones. What was disquieting was how often he found himself answering her questions openly and from the heart, some of them very revealing.

The day after Dr. Newton's first visit Dean left messages not only on his father's cell but with Pastor Jim, Bobby Singer and Caleb just in case John wasn't checking his messages. He was actually pleased to find John had spoken to all of them recently. Dad was digging hard and wide to find out what was happening to him.

* * *

"I'm sorry I don't have anything yet, Dean but I'm looking into a few things." said Pastor Jim, "How are you doing?"

"Recuperating from an hunting accident. No permanent damage. Healing fast. I always do." Dean answered making sure he sounded suitably positive, "Pastor, I need to get word to dad. The chief of trauma foisted a psychologist on me so I've had to come up with a kind of involved cover story."

"How extensive?" Jim asked picking up a pencil.

"Well I'm lying with the truth."

"Oh I have to hear this." said Jim, with a chuckle in his voice.

"I'm substituting the supernatural with escaped convicts. We're bounty hunters. Mom was killed by an unknown escaped convict and dad's been hunting him ever since while hunting every convict he can. Grew up on the road and well you can guess the rest."

"That's brilliant Dean." Jim laughed, "I'll pass that along to him. I should be talking to him in a day or two. Look after yourself son."

"Thanks, I will."

Dean hung up feeling a little lighter. Jim Murphy had that effect on people. Dean decided he'd make another call while he was at it.

"Hey, little brother." Dean greeted Sam, "Did you try the drug thing on Brady?"

"Yah and it seems to be working too." Sam announced, "They plan to release him at the end of the month. He's going home for a little while but he'll be back for the next semester. Jessica and I are taking him out to dinner and what ever before he leaves."

"Did you say Jessica?" Dean asked concerned, "What are you doing Sammy?"

"Relax Dean, she's been visiting Brady." Sam was quick with the denial, "She's been a big help to him. They've become real good friends. It's all about friends Dean."

"Just remember the further apart you two are the better for her."

"I know I'm being careful. I told her I can't be involved with anybody now and she accepts it. We're okay Dean really. Anything new on dad."

"It's probably a demon curse, pagan origins." Dean hesitated, how did he tell his brother that …. "Sammy it can drive him into deadly fits of rage."

"How bad is it?" Sam asked after a long silence.

"We disagreed about the type of cast for my leg and he got so pissed he had to beat up the wall and leave." Dean capsulized the knee brace incident then added, "In front of three doctors."

"In front of three doctors?" Sam couldn't believe it.

"Three doctors. They called security on him." Dean added, "All it takes is the slightest pressure, eating Hostess to loud could set him off."

"Oh shit."

Dad's temper flaring was old news to Sam. He did it regularly screaming in Sam's face and they even had pushing matches. Dean always stepped in separating them but at no time did Sam ever think his father might hurt him. He would put them in the line of fire, walk them into the lion's den or even turn them into monster bait but raise a hand to him, never. Dean yes, which was always distressing to see. There were times when Sam wondered if the only reason his dad never hit him was because Dean got in the way. It was something he tried not to think about. The guilt factor was enormous. Even separated Sam was not worried about being alone with his dad. Dean once told him their father would never touch him because he knew what Dean would do to him. Sam didn't ask what Dean would do. It was all there in his eyes. Sam never felt safer or more loved then he did at that moment but he was also a little disturbed by his brother. Sam took a minute to consider what his father's problem mean to them. The obvious point was they couldn't count on their dad for support with whatever was coming and that was very distressing.

"Dean there has to be a way of getting rid of this demon thing." Sam begged.

"I'm working on it now. I have a major expert, the best demon man in the business looking into it." Dean assured him, "But in the mean time if he show's up don't go near him, just in case."

"Got it, steer clear of dad till I hear from you." Sam agreed, "But how likely is he to show up here?"

"A million to one shot." Dean chuckled, "He's as stubborn as you. He won't take the first step."

"Bite me." Sam snapped and growled when Dean laughed.

Sam checked the calendar on his desk. April seventeenth, Dean called another one right. Bagdad fell on April ninth and it wasn't comforting. Somewhere deep in Sam's subconscious he was still waiting for Dean to be wrong. A little voice kept whispering in his ear, how right can he be, if dad doesn't know about this. But Brady was possessed, the war started and Bagdad fell all on schedule. The biggest test would come April thirtieth. There was a very slim possibility that Dean could have found out about the pending war from some explainable source. Bagdad could be a huge fluke but the end of the war could mean only one thing. Dean's source really could see the future. Sam listened to the tiny whispering voice and prayed Dean was wrong. It wasn't too late to get back together with Jessica and return to his normal life again. Each day Sam stopped at the campus chapel and lit a candle. But something deep in the pit of his stomach knew Dean was right.

* * *

***Please review and let me know how I'm doing. Do you want to read more?**

****Another reproofed and re-posted. No real tampering this time.  
**


	10. Chapter 10 Of Witches and Gods

**Still don't own Sam, Dean or Supernatural or I'd be writing for the series.**

* * *

**Chapter 10,**

**Of witches and Gods.**

Dean sat at the edge of a peaceful lake watching gulls swoop and dive into the clear waters. He was sitting by the shore waiting for Sam and John to join him for their evening bath. They usually got the bath part over with quickly then spent an hour just horsing around. It was a clear clean lake teaming with fish which they eat regularly. The only way to avoid fish was to shoot something. Subsequently they also eat a lot of rabbit, some partridge and had venison in the freezer. They were allowed to eat the venison only twice a week. Dean didn't mind the restriction a lot. It didn't taste like beef anyway. He watched the gulls diving for their dinner and wondered what roast gull would taste like.

Castiel appeared beside him shattering the illusion. Oh well it was nice while it lasted. Dean brought Castiel up to date on all recent events. The Angel agreed with Pastor Jim about Dean's truth**/**lie if for different reasons. Truth was simply the only option. Why did he tell them it was a convict instead of a demon?

"They wouldn't have believed me. They would have thought I was crazy."

"Why?"

"Because people don't believe in demons."

"Demons are real, Dean. How can people not believe in them?"

Dean groaned, it was like talking to a child, "The greatest lie Lucifer ever told was to convince people he doesn't exist." Dean offered and old adage.

"Lucifer, can not speak with humans. He did not tell this lie."

"No but his minions did. Cass do you have information for me?" Dean changed the subject.

"I have confirmed that the ritual preformed in Beaver Utah was a summoning of a demon known to you in pagan mythology." Castiel explained, "The demon is summoned to perform a specific task. Thousands of years ago demons were created to serve very specific functions. The most likely demons to be tormenting your father are the furies or Lyssa."

"The furies they drive people crazy?" Dean asked for conformation.

"Yes."

"And Lyssa, I don't know that one."

"The Greeks called this demon the Goddess of rage, fury and rabies in animals. We have extensive information on both"

"Can you down load all this into my laptop?" Dean asked excited.

"The top of your lap?" Castiel asked unfamiliar with the term.

"A machine that stores information." Dean explained patiently, "It's small thin has a screen and is in my car. Can you put the information on these demons in it and name the file, furies and Lyssa."

"Yes." Castiel answered without hesitation, "Is you're father delusional, disoriented, and irrational."

"No more enraged and irrational."

"He is not likely to be was under the influence of the Furies. Lyssa excites anger over things that are agitating the victim requiring no delusions or hallucinations, only rage."

"So she or it pushes his buttons about things he's already pissed at me for and he starts wailing on me?"

"Essentially."

"Funny, I already knew that." Dean mumbled.

He rose and began to stroll aimlessly about the shore line picking up stones and skipping them across the glassy surface of the lake. It was motion nothing more, something to do with his body while his mind struggled. Little in this world made sense to Dean. He understood the motivations of monsters, demons and spirits but he did not understand the point of their existence. He understood people were driven by passion, greed and many other emotions but he could not comprehend, many or even most of their methods of obtaining their desires. God created everything in heaven and on earth then skipped out and let everything run amok. That made the least sense of all. Dean did everything his father ever asked, gave him everything he had to give and the man could find nothing of worth or value in his son. What was so wrong with him? Dean grabbed a large stone and hurled it toward the center of the lake with every ounce or frustration and anger he felt at that moment and it was great. He then opened his mouth and lungs and sent a mighty cry of rage and anguish after it. The exorcise was painful and exhausting and was followed by tears. Enormous tears slid down his face dripping off his chin and moistening his shirt. John's resistance to the changes in Dean, his stronger more assertive and independent self of twenty ten suggested to Dean that unquestioning loyalty and obedience was what his father wanted from Dean but not what he could love or respect. Yet John said he was proud of him, even went to hell for him. Of all the things in Dean's life that he did not understand his father was the least comprehensible.

"You appear to be in distress." Castiel felt the need to say something,

The servant of the Lord had no idea what he was interrupting or what the repercussions might be but his time was limited and if more was needed from him they could not wait. Dean turned toward him his eyes wide, pain filled and angry.

"Have I incurred your wrath?" He asked.

"Cass, you do everything your father says, give him everything you've got to give right?"

"Of course." The Angel replied finding any other way inconceivable.

"How would you feel if your father told you thanks a bunch but you're nothing but a piece of shit he'd like to step on?"

"I would feel nothing. I do not feel." Castiel replied hesitantly, confused by the question.

"Right. So. How do we stop this bitch Lyssa?

"There must be am amulet or talisman on the person of the one controlling the demon. If it is destroyed the demon will be free of it's master's control."

"And will turn on it's master?" Dean asked hopefully

"That is very likely."

"Great, one more thing Cass. The demons used me to break the first seal. I was the righteous man that spilled blood in hell. This time I exorcised a demon they had watching Sam which probably tipped them off to the fact that I'm on to them. Can they just kill me and use someone else or do Sam and I have to book end this thing?"

"I do not know. I still have much to discover about the prophecies." Cass answered though he wasn't sure what the question meant.

"Okay. But if they wanted to kill me they would just do it. Send a demon. Having my father beat me to death seems a little out there. Azazel, would appreciate the poetry in it, but he's not active right now. He has a plan and Demon's don't change in the middle of a plan cause a miner detail slips out of place. They'll just push it back where they want it. What are they trying to do?"

"What has having your father beat you accomplished?" Castiel asked, "How have you both been damaged or redirected?"

"That's an excellent question Cass." Dean agreed, "I'll have to sleep on it."

"You are sleeping." Castiel pointed out.

"Thank you for that insight." Dean snarked.

"You're welcome."

"Good bye Cass." Dean grinned.

* * *

Cass disappeared and Dean's eyes popped opened to morning sun. The nurses were usually good about keeping the curtains closed to protect his eyes while he had drops in them. Either word was out that the drops were stopped last week or there was a new nurse. A hot one he hopped. Helen was a good nurse but she was middle aged and a little frumpy. With the swelling gone, the bruising starting to fade and the patches covering his scares Dean hoped he could get a little special attention. It wasn't long before Dean heard the breakfast cart coming down the hall. He raised his bed and carded his hair in an attempt to rid himself of bed head despite the fact that almost half his head was shaved and bandaged. The lady that walked in the door carrying his breakfast was not quite what he was hoping for. Though a little mature for Dean she was sexy in a been there done that way, which he could appreciate. She greeted him with a bright hello and introduced herself as Lizzie. She placed the tray on the table then pushed it in front of him before checking the food to make sure it was the restricted diet ordered for him. Juice, cream of wheat, yogurt and coffee. Dean was grateful he was finely getting his morning coffee.

"Just a minute." she asked while checking the cart, "Yes they are starting to lift some of your restrictions, "Cream cereal. Here's your spoon. Can you handle this or do you need help?"

"I'm good." Dean replied offering her a suggestive smile, "Unless you'd like to stick around."

"Oh I have lots of work thanks, sweetie." she grinned, "Maybe a little later."

Well that wasn't exactly a no. Later? The therapists would be there at nine thirty working the traction pulleys moving his leg up and down to exorcise his new knee. Later he'd be covered in sweat and in significant pain from the therapy. That would be no fun. Then Doc Maggie would be in and there just wouldn't be any time for nurse Lizzie. No fun at all. Doc. Maggie surprised him by showing up half way through his breakfast such as it was.

"What brings you here this early?" Dean asked, "Are you changing the time for our appointment?"

"No not at all." She replied moving the chair to her preferred spot, "I heard you caused a little stir in the wee hours."

"I did?" Dean asked, "News to me."

"It seems you gave out this terrible scream of pain and then cried in your sleep." Maggie said as she read a piece of paper, "The nurse was going to wake you up but you settled down right away so she let you sleep."

"I'm sorry I didn't know." Dean stammered completely embarrassed.

"You don't have to apologize Dean." Maggie assured him, "Looking after patients is their job. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Just a nightmare.' Dean answered instinctively hiding his eyes.

"Could you try to tell me about it. Often talking about them makes them go away." She coxed.

"Some things never change Maggie. You can't fix everything." Dean gave a little.

"There is one thing we can always change, make that two."

He grinned and deliberately took the bate, "What's that?"

"We can always change our mind and we can change ourselves."

Dean's grin grew wider, "Yah I suppose most of the time but some things will never change." He sighed, "Sometimes you just got to play the hand you're dealt."

Maggie stroked his cheek and smiled saying, "No you don't. You just decide to save yourself"

Dean couldn't help looking at her longingly wishing that were true. In the past five years the best time he had was when he was on his own. All his life it was what he feared the most. Everyone leaving him. Having no one to love and care for. Yet when it finely happened Dean was amazed by how peaceful it was. No one to worry about, no one to fight with or fighting him, trying to push him in one way or another. No one to bleed for. He could take some time and think about himself for a change. Sure it was a little lonely on those long drives but for the fist time in his life he was free.

Doc Maggie stayed till the therapists came. It was the longest most involved chat they had and when she left he actually felt better. Dean couldn't say why but he did.

The therapy lasted a full half hour of bend and straighten, bend and straighten trying to bend a little more and straighten a little more with each set. It wasn't agony but it was constant pain. By the time they left he was always exhausted. And to think the brace was going to be worse. Sometimes life sucks. Sometimes it didn't. Lizzie came in with a bowl, soap and water. Bed baths can be embarrassing and uncomfortable and sometimes they can, well, still be a little embarrassing but not uncomfortable, even fun. Lizzie didn't mind flirting one damned bit. She smiled easily was pretty quick herself but Dean knew it was all in play. He could always tell by the look in a ladies eyes. Sometimes you chased whether the look was there or not. But sometimes you just have fun because it's there to be had.

Lizzie handed him the cloth to clean his private area and though he took it without hesitation he snarked,, "You're not fun."

"Well if you insist." she answered holding out her hand.

"So'k, I'm a good sport." He replied and did the job himself.

"Took your time." she remarked when he handed back the cloth.

"Lot to clean." He fired back.

"Got me." she returned and laughed.

"Yah, that's not easy." Dean laughed but stopped when she went to the traction and started lowering the leg, "What are you doing?"

"It's okay, I checked first." Lizzie reacted to his alarmed face rather than the snapped question, "Trust me you're going to love this. Start raising the bed slowly. Make yourself comfortable sitting up. And sit up don't lean back. Here I'll help you."

Lizzie got behind him and helped him into a comfortable sitting position then got on the bed behind him. She filled her hand with an oily lotion and began the most artful back rub he'd ever had. She soothed all his aching muscles and rubbed away all the bed sore spots.

"Oh that's so good." Dean crooned, "You are really good at this."

"Careful what you say." Lizzie giggled, "People might misunderstand."

"Let them. Give them something to gossip about." Dean chuckled.

"Oh I can here it now, my new nick name, cougar."

"You are not that old." Dean complained.

"I have a teen aged son."

"Wow, you got pregnant in junior high." Dean remarked making her laugh.

"Oh Dean, my boy wouldn't like you."

"Sure he would, we could be buddies. Does he like classic cars. I have a 67 Impala. She's cherry." He pushed making her laugh again.

"He complains I'm to fast for him. You'd drive him crazy." She exaggerated her sigh, "Then again robbing the cradle might be fun."

"Oh honey someone else beat you to that a long time ago." Dean said letting go one good guffaw.

"Good teacher?"

"What I don't know isn't worth learning." Dean turned to bounce a brow at her.

Lizzie gave a giggle and slapped his back, "I'm getting out of here before someone walks in."

"To late." Maggie Newton called from the door.

Lizzie quickly hopped off the bed, raised the back and the tractioned leg before leaving.

"Thanks." Maggie said to the nurse as she left.

"Thanks?" Dean asked.

"For leaving us alone." She explained then raised her hand, "Brought the cards."

"What you didn't reserve the whole day for me over a nightmare." Dean was astonished.

"Dean this is your regularly scheduled appointment." She answered pulling up a chair, "Gin rummy?"

"Sure."

There was a look in her eye that warned Dean this was not going to be a casual visit but her approach was so gentle and kind and her expression so accepting he couldn't help but smile. It was a strange feeling being comfortable, this comfortable with a stranger. Comfortable enough to know she was after something and not care.

John returned to the hospital the day before the brace was to be attached. He was wearing a new talisman Bobby found for him, and was confident it would keep him in check. 'It protects the wearer against all evil influences.' John heard Dean's idea about Lyssa from Jim Murphy and thought it was worth investigating. The first place to inspect was of course Beaver, Utah and he did indeed find a survivor from the coven. The witch laughed in John's face and with a huge satisfied grin on his said it wasn't them. Oh they new who did it. They were even given the privilege of helping. But he didn't have the talisman controlling the Lyssa.

"He said I'd never find her." John intoned his face drooping to his knees, "I beat the shit out of him and he still wouldn't talk."

"We're not going to stop looking." Dean vowed, "We'll fix this dad."

"Oh we sure as hell will and in the mean time I've got this. It should keep me from going crazy again." John pulled a silver amulet from under his shirt, "Very powerful. I'll be paying Bobby back for the rest of my life but at least I'm sane."

Paying Bobby back. Dean would have to do something about that. Thank God for Bobby. Dean could rewrite history but some things would never change. Owing Bobby for saving his neck would be one of them. As he was filled in on all John had been up to something Dean couldn't over look was his father's hands. The first thing Dean noticed when John entered the room was gauze bandages around both hands. John was in a positive mood so Dean didn't want to upset him with questions so he let it lie. But eventually he had to ask. Dean needed to know if there was anything he needed to know.

"I got some bad news from Jim Murphy and took it out on a wall." John answered while keeping his eyes averted, sudden and swift John was glaring at him, "What were you thinking talking to a shrink?"

"I was thinking that fighting Dr. Bradshaw on it might raise suspicions." Dean replied as respectfully as possible, "With the cops visiting trying to talk me into pressing charges I didn't want to raise any more eyebrows."

"Press charges?" John asked confused.

"They know. There were witnesses. The guy who called the cops saw you stomping on me." Dean broke the bad news, "The only mystery is why you passed out."

"We've got to get out of here as soon as possible," John snapped into all business hunter mode, "When will you be able to drive?"

"I don't know, we'll have to wait a while after the antistatic wares off but we'll have to be careful. Driving is illegal for six weeks after knee surgery."

"I'll pick you up in the truck. I'd rather not have you driving that soon." John mused, "I'll get us a room somewhere up the highway bring the Impala there and be all set up by the time you're mobile."

Dad seemed a little strained but he was damned restrained over the shrink business. Yes things were looking up. He picked up the phone to call Sam and let him know.

John booked a room in the cleanest most comfortable motel he could find thirty odd miles south on highway 82. The likelihood was they'd be there a while. He rented a suite with a sitting room so he could watch TV while Dean rested and made sure the kitchenette was well stocked. He check with the restaurant to make sure Dean could have meals delivered in the event that he had to leave for any length of time. He hadn't any plans but John wanted to make sure.

John was confident everything would be alright. Maybe locating who ever set the demon curse on him wouldn't be easy but if he could hold his temper while confronting Dean about the shrink without even yelling at him for being so reckless then he had everything under control. John stole a car to get back to Dean after parking the Impala and ditched it in an old abandoned lot a decent hike from the room he took near the hospital. Everything was set.

John went back to the first motel to collect their belongings to find police tape across the door. He paid not attention to it and barged right in to find a disaster. Blood splattered on the walls and pooled on the floor forming a black puddle with Dean's upper torso imprinted in it. Holes in the plaster told tale of how Dean received his concussion and broke his arm and broken furniture lay scattered all about. John had seen rooms like this. Saw them in crime scene photographs or inspected them looking for evidence of what kind of monster had murdered or mangled some poor innocent. He had to dash to the bathroom to loose his stomach in the toilet. John was careful to keep his head low when he washed his face. He didn't want to see the monster that did this.

John waited for Dean in his room. Just walking down the corridors of this hospital was difficult with the way the staff looked at him. He wasn't spending hours in the waiting room. But he would soon be away from it, from the town, from everything that happened and as long as he held on to his shield amulet it would never happen again. John placed his gift to Dean on the table beside the bed. It could be six months before Dean would be able to put full weight on his leg and longer before he would be at full strength. Knowing Dean he'd be tossing the cane away in three months. Until then he would have a sleek black cane with a carved ivory handle.

John sat down with a couple of newspapers while he waited. Maybe there was something close by he could take care of while Dean convalesced. There was no need for him to be idle because Dean was out of the game. When Dean was brought in the doctor reported the procedure was a success and that Dean would be unconscious for several more hours. Though Dr. Ricker didn't look at John like he was filth under her shoes she was as cold as ice. He could take the cold without complaint.

Upon Dean's return to the room John was filled with a powerful sense of relief. Mobility was a vital part of his life and having it compromised by traction had filled him with an unease that penetrated to his bones. There was always something coming, evil of one sort or another. If it couldn't be fought they had the option of falling back. The evil that was looming was the credit card company. A bill was submitted under one of two circumstances. When the patient was released or at the end of the month, whichever came first. It was how hospital accounting departments worked. Once that bill was sent it would be a matter of days before the fraud would be discovered and the more distance between them and the hospital the colder the trail.

Credit card fraud was never a high priority for any police or sheriff's department but card companies were known to have their own investigators. Dean needed to be away from this hospital and their rest and nurture approach to convulsing. It always took at least a week for a soldier to get over the whole I've been wounded cut me some slack attitude. Dean was never one for that nonsense. In point of fact he tended toward the other extreme which was a matter of pride with John, though it made Dean a little difficult to manage at times. But he'd never been hurt like this before, giving John pause for thought.

Dean gradually pulled himself from the peace and quiet of darkness to find his father sitting by his bed.

"How you doing, Ace?" John greeted him.

"Feeling fine, nice stuff they're feeding me." Dean grinned.

John's smile grew to full dimple as he chuckled, "I'll just bet. I think we'll wait for you to come in for a landing before we pack you off. You relax and enjoy the ride. I'll go get prescriptions and shit."

"Pocket the good stuff, okay." Dean grinned.

Dean was able to keep the smile on his face until his father left the room. If the stuff he was getting intravenously wasn't killing the pain he doubted there was anything in the hospitals medicine cabinets strong enough to handle it. At the moment it was a perpetual throb. When the 'good stuff' wares off Dean planned to have his dad knock him out. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. Dean woke to raised voices in the room and for a brief moment thought 'They're at it again.', but when did Sam start sounding like a girl? Sure he acted like one but didn't sound like it.

"Hey lower the volume." Dean barked as he struggled to open his eyes.

"You about ready to go, Ace?" John joined Dean at his bed side.

"Dad I'm not even dressed." Dean complained.

"We'll start by getting these tubes out of you." John started pulling the tape off Dean's arm, "I brought you a pair of sweets. We'll have to cut off one of the legs. I'll have to track down a pair of scissors."

"Stop that at once." Dr. Ricker charged the bed, "He can not be moved, Mr. Tucker you're son has a tube in his spine."

"Remove it." John ordered.

"I will not." Dr. Ricker would not be bullied, "Mr." She stopped and turned her attention to the patient, "Mack, you remember what it was like when I put the plate and the rod in your leg, don't you?"

"Oh yah." Dean breathed, "Trying to forget."

"Mack, I just put a dozen new holes in you're thigh and shin. There is the obvious risk of infection for which you are receiving antibiotics. We need time to wean you from the spinal to oral painkillers, to determine what kind and how much. All this needs a doctors supervision."

"How long?" Dean groaned.

The voices were quiet after getting the 'shield' but they were there, a low buzz that made him edgy but not angry, not homicidal. As Dean spoke with the doctor they grew louder and he could hear what the nattering voices were saying.

_How long? What difference does it make? Listening to other people, giving them his loyalty. He knows how important it is to go. The risks to both of us if we stay. He's so damned irresponsible. Useless lazy damned irresponsible kid who doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself._

Ridicules. How ridicules to call Dean irresponsible. But the whispering continued, growing more persistent as Dean's conversation continued.

_Why was he even listening to her? Disrespectful. John always looked after him, always knew what was best. Didn't he trust his father anymore?_

On and on it went picking away at his fears growing loader and loader.

"Why are we even having this conversation?" John demanded as he tried to block out the voices and quiet his growing nerves, "We need to get out of here quickly, get that thing out of his back or I will."

"I will not and neither will you, Sir." the Doctor decreed with all the authority he profession gave her and a little more, "We are not anaesthesiologists we could damage his spine."

"You get someone in here who will or I will do it." John growled his warning.

Dean began to sweat. There was no way on earth he was going to let his father poke away at this back. The way Johns hand was trembling as it gripped the bed rail he would be a paraplegic by the time his dad was through.

"Doc, could you give my dad and me a few minutes." Dean asked, when he saw she was going to argue he gave her a warning look, "Doctor I need some time alone with my father, please."

She nodded and hurried out the door.

"What the hell is there to discuss?" John demanded.

"You could cripple me if you take out the tube yourself." Dean said as quietly and respectfully as he could, "I think we have to deal with these people here."

"I always knew you were a whining, selfish, little bastard" John snarled, "I didn't know you're a coward. Afraid of a little pain are you?"

Dean only meant convince them to do it. All that was required was to sign himself out and they would have no choice in the matter. All he asked of his father was patience. John's knuckles were white from the grip he had on the bed. It began to shake as he struggled with the growing rage.

"No Sir, I'll talk to her, we'll set it up okay?" Dean pleaded.

"You listen to them instead of you father?" He bellowed visibly shaking the bed, "You trust strangers over your own family, over you're father?"

"Sir, I'm just suggesting we manoeuvre them into doing what we want." Dean offered knowing better than to disagree with him.

John's hand flew to Dean's throat putting pressure shoving him into the mattress. The veins in John's bulging eyes stood as a testament to the rage with in. Dean grabbed the arm with his one usable hand as pressure at his throat slowly increased.

"Are you telling me what to do." John demanded at a roar, "You never did know you're place in this family. You're brother's the one with the guts and the brains."

"Sir. I'm suggesting we force them to do what we want." Dean answered quickly, "Dad you're hurting me."

"Since when do you do the thinking?" John continued to bellow and the pressure on Dean's neck increased, "Why should I give a damn what you want you worthless piece of shit."

"Dad please." Dean begged as he struggled for breath.

"You couldn't find you're ass without an instruction manual!" He screamed in Dean's face.

Dean heard a cry from a distance.

"Dad you're killing me." Dean managed to choke as his sight began to blur.

'Killing me' vibrated in his mind startling John. What did it mean, he asked and finely looked, truly looked, at his son. Dean's face was puffy his lips were tinted blue and the hand which had been twisting, nails digging into John's arm was going limp. "You're killing you're son you psychotic idiot." he screamed at himself and the voices began to recede. He let go of Dean like he was on fire and after a moments terrified hesitation John made sure Dean's throat wasn't crushed and he was still breathing. He sighed with relief when Dean's eye opened. Never was green so beautiful. John bent down and kissed Dean's temple and kept his lips by his son's ear.

"God I'm sorry, Ace." He whispered, " I thought I had it under control but I don't. We can't do this. It's too dangerous."

"We'll fix this, dad." Dean croaked.

"No where near you son." John's voice began to crack, "I can't risk it. Look after you're self son. The Impala is outside the Wayside motel just off highway 82 in Aspen just five miles south of the airport on the edge of town."

"Dad?" Dean considered arguing then realized what that would mean, "Okay, I'm so sorry dad."

As John straightened up Dean could see a security guard behind John and Doctors Ricker and Bradshaw at the foot of the bed. They did nothing as John kissed him one more time before heading for the door. He stopped forced a smile and dropped the keys to the Impala on the bed stand. Dean couldn't remember a more painful goodbye in his life. After being back only a matter of months he had completely ruined his fathers life. All he wanted to do was cry.

Dean knew when hospitals processed insurance claims and how long it would take until they would be calling the appropriate authorities. He waited until the doctor had the tube out of his spine and his meds regulated. The kidney was healing and his vision was clear enough to navigate a fair distance even if he wouldn't have passed a driving eye exam.

Saying good bye to Maggie Newton was hard. He began to look forward to her visits in spite of himself and would miss them. It was strange how easy he found it to talk to her and how good it was to be able to talk to some one. She did however give him something to think about before he left.

"Mack, how much do you think you hid from me?" She asked.

"Not a lot." Dean admitted.

"You're right. I know you've been carrying the lions share of responsibility in your family but no one seems to notice or care and you've been brainwashed into believing if you should ever dare to think of yourself or want something for yourself it would be the most selfish thing in the world. And I know a lot more. If you don't do something to help yourself you will be buried under other peoples problems and neglecting your own until it finely kills you."

"Now you're tying to scare me." Dean tried to laugh off the frighteningly accurate prediction.

"Yes and you know I'm right too. Here take this." She gave him a book titled 'The Pathology of Abuse', "It explains why some parents abuse children, how the different types of abusers will choose there victim and so forth. I think it would help you a lot if you understood how and why you've grown up the way you have."

Dean nodded agreeing to take the book, She didn't expect anything more than the polite thank you she received. Shame was a powerful aspect of the boys makeup.

"Mack you'd also be helping your father and possibly any future children you may have by reading that, but I think you need to talk to someone about that other problem of yours."

"What?" Dean asked alarmed, "What other problem?"

"Childhood sexual abuse can have long reaching consequences."

"My father never touched me." Dean growled.

"No not your father." Maggie knew, "But someone." She watched the blood colour his face as his eyes darted around the room in that tell tale fashion, "You think it's over and you can go on with your life but these things will go on haunting you. Crisis centers are anonymous, most are open twenty-four seven, and they're all over the country. Here."

"What's this." He asked

"The address and phone number of every crises center in the country can be found on this site." She answered holding his attention with an intense stare, "I scratched enough of the surface to know you have a lot more to deal with than 'your dad is a violent drunk' which is hard enough to deal with in it's self. If you want to know what happy really is then stop shoving this shit in to some secret place and waiting for it to go away cause it won't. It'll haunt you until you face it and deal."

Dean put the card in his wallet. He didn't know that he'd ever use it but he kept it. He had things to do and he didn't want to argue with her. Chances were good he'd loose. Dean needed to make a couple of covert visits to a number of supply rooms before hitting the road. The first aid kit didn't have the kind of meds he was prescribed. He had to stock up the first aid kit anyway. Dean could hide the brace under scrubs but though the hat hid most of the shaved part of his head any close examination of his face would reveal his silicone sheets. He'd just have to keep his head low and hope for the best. Just as Dean was about to leave his room the figure of Castiel appeared in front of him.

"I have information for you." He announced.

"Great Cass but I have to get out of here." Dean hurried him, "I have to get some supplies and nobody can see me while I do it."

"Is it important?"

"Very, I need the medicine to get better and the other supplies for when I'm hurt."

"Very well, take my arm and no one will see you." Castiel told him.

"You're kidding me." Dean exclaimed.

Castiel hesitated a moment before answering, "No."

"Fantastic." Dean laughed and took Castiel's arm.

Picking up a carry all commonly seen in the hospital Dean made the rounds of the supply cabinets. Some locks were easy to pick while others actually took ten seconds but in either case he came out with everything he wanted and a few extras for his trouble. He left the Hospital with the bag full. This was one of the rare times when he actually felt a little bad about ditching the place. Everyone had gone to such lengths to help him. On the other hand he wasn't going to stick around and be grabbed by the fraud squad just to be a nice guy.

Castiel said goodbye after warning him that the Zachariah was a ware that Dean maybe on to what the demon's were up to and had ordered Castiel to keep an eye on him.

"Do you think they're on to you?" Dean asked, and when Castiel only looked at him, "Do you think they know you're going behind their backs?"

"No." Castiel replied, "I have said and done nothing that would be considered irregular. If you need to speak to me again use the Enchanted spell from the Book of Angels and Demons. You will fall unconscious and I will be able to speak to you unnoticed."

"Good, done." Dean agreed, "Do you think you could transport me to my car."

Suddenly he was standing beside the Impala and Castiel was nowhere in sight. He called thanks and be careful to the sky, climbed into his baby and was on the road but where to go? He wasn't arrogant or stupid enough to think he could look after himself. After a long argument with himself he pushed Sam on speed dial. He started out slowly with hi and how are you before getting to the point which only put Sam on his guard.

* * *

"Sammy I'm in a corner, I need your help." Dean eased into the situation.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked immediately concerned.

"I'm in a little trouble." Dean hesitated, he hated admitting this at all much less having to burden Sam, but where else could he go? "I'm hurt Sam." Dean yanked the bandage off with an ouch.

"What, how bad?" Sam asked alarmed.

"I'm not getting around well." Dean answered. "I'm coming your way, k?"

"Where's dad, he's alright isn't he?" Sam demanded, alarmed, "Why isn't he looking after you?"

"He was fine the last time I saw him, a few days ago." Dear answered not wanting to go into details over the phone, "Look Sammy I need a layover and I'm coming you're way. Are we good."

"When you tell me what's going on." Sam snapped, annoyed by Dean ambiguous replies.

He could hear the rumble of the Impala engines. How hurt was Dean if dad left him and he was driving? There was something else going on. Sam had a paper on civil disobedience to finish and another on nurture verses nature due before exams. He had no time or patience for games. Dean could tell him what he wanted or let him get back to work.

"None of this need to know crap, Dean. " Sam continued, "What's the rest of it?"

"I'm telling you everything. Dad can't be around me right now and I need somewhere to stay while I get back on my feet. Now are we good?" Dean spelled it out as clearly as he could.

Either something very big was up and he was doing dad's need to know routine although a lot more politely if clumsily and poorly disguised. Sam wouldn't be kept in the dark, not with Jessica's life on the line and not when Sam knew he was at the center of the trouble. He would be armed with all necessary information if he had to beat it out of Dean. Then again, Dean could just be using this as an excuse to check up on him rather than being open and honest like a normal person. Damn it if Dean wanted to see him just say so. Now was a bad time but Sam would be happy to arrange something later.

"No we're not!" Sam barked fed up with Dean's little brother attitude toward him, "I have a lot on my plate right now Dean and no time for your stupid games. When you're ready to tell me what's going on, call me."

* * *

He hung up, Dean couldn't believe, Sam hung up on him. Expectations always result in disappointment. Dean could dwell latter. At the moment the pressing question was, where to go. Everybody was still alive, Pastor Jim, Caleb, Bobby. Well there was the obvious sitting right in font of his face. Why did he even call Sam? '_The kid isn't set up for something like this anyway. I shouldn't be so angry.' _Dean pointed the Impala in the direction of South Dakota and Singer Salvage. It was pretty direct, interstate 76 all the way to highway 83 then east on 44 to Sioux Falls, a mere eight hundred miles, a thirteen hour drive. It was better than seventeen hours and over a thousand miles to Palo Alto. Under normal circumstances Sioux Falls would be an easy ride but what did Dean know about normal these days. Or any day. Today not normal was having only half the necessary body parts for driving, in proper working order and sustaining himself with a minimal amount of Vicodin to make the pain tolerable while not interfering with his reflexes. He was hurt and hauling ass before the police came after him. After serious consideration Dean decided these circumstances weren't that unusual after all. Pretty normal really, for Dean.

Two hundred miles and fifty miles later Dean was sweating excessively, the pain was climbing up to a point where he might have to risk higher doses of Vicodin and his migraine category head ache was making it almost impossible to concentrate. Dean didn't know what possessed him but he looked out the window for a dove and almost lost control of the Impala when he found one soaring ahead of him. He was completely creeped out but a new wave of strength washed over him from regions unknown. It took him a minute but he recognized it as hope. Now he was really creeped out.

"You did that?" Dean asked the dove, "You're totally freaking me out, you know that? What's the game here?"

Dean tried to ignore the dove as he drove on but it wouldn't leave him. Eventually exhaustion won out over his improved attitude and his eyes fought to close. The image of a dove and highway guard railing flashed in Deans mind startling him from his doze and his head snapped up. He was drifting off the road. Dean spun the steering wheel and got back onto the black top not a moment to soon. Shaken but not buried under a mile of guardrail Dean scanned the sky and easily found the dove.

"Is that you Gabriel, fucking with me?" Dean called to the dove, "Thanks for the help but stop screwing with my head."

Dean watched for the next off ramp. More coffee, a couple of hours sleep? He was afraid to stop on the side of the road. Sleeping in the car could have adverse effects on certain body parts. He was on interstate 76 half way between Denver and North Platte, still over three hundred miles to Sioux Falls . He'd never make it. Dean looked up at the dove over head.

"Hey Gabe, come down here and lay hands on me." he shouted at the dove.

Castiel couldn't heal Bobby after being cut off from heaven, but the Archangel seem to be able to do anything. If it was Gabriel up there. Just considering the other possibilities gave Dean the creeps again. Half way to North Platte, if he made it that far he could get a room for the night and start fresh in the morning. Two miles to the next exit Dean read.

"Wake up bitch! The road house." Dean admonished himself.

Sutherland Nebraska was one exit before North Platte. Why go hunting for a motel when he could drop in on Ellen. Ellen and Jo, are alive, Ash is alive, everybody's alive. It was an uplifting thought. The only one at risk was the nut behind the wheel of the Impala.

Dean called up to the Dove, "Hey Gabriel, you dick, stop jerking my chain and send Cass to help or would that screw up your private witness protection?"

As if in answer to Dean's demands Castiel appeared in the car beside him sending a chill up his spine.

"Dude, are you trying to give me a heart attack." Dean asked as he brought his breathing under control.

"Are you always so easily startled?" Castiel asked.

"Only when I'm half dead actually. Gabriel send you?" Dean asked a little unnerved.

"Gabriel has not been in contact with any of us in several thousand years." Castiel replied.

"Then why are you here?" Dean asked a little more unnerved.

"You're request for aid was forwarded to me." Cass answered.

"By who?" Dean asked growing concerned, 'Who was screwing with his head'.

"I did not ask." Castiel answered, "I was given a command. In light of our situation it seems fortuitous."

"Fortuitous? Not likely?" Dean griped, "Somebody trying to help me up there has nothing good in mind."

"Then I should leave." Castiel suggested.

"No. No, we'll take advantage of this. I have to stay awake and alert for the next hundred and fifty miles so talk to me."

"What do you wish me to say?" Castiel asked confused by the strange humans, strange request and even stranger reasoning.

"Tell me everything going on in heaven, especially the suspicious stuff." Dean answered, other Cass was better at this. "There's a shop up ahead, coffee will help. You can grab a couple and we'll get back on the interstate."

While Castiel went in to the diner to buy coffee Dean closed his eyes for just a minute hoping it would help his head ache. He was both startled and embarrassed when Castiel woke him with a shake. The coffee was sitting on the dashboard and Castiel was kneeling beside the open drivers side door.

"Sorry I didn't mean to doze off." Dean immediately apologized.

"Dean if I were to heal you I would have to explain it to Zachariah. I can think of no explanation that would satisfy him." Castiel said with a frown.

"Don't risk it dude, I'll heal just fine the normal way." Dean smiled back.

"I can ease your discomfort at least for a time." Castiel offered.

When Dean just stared in surprise Castiel placed a hand on Dean's left leg. Slowly warmth spread out from the hand and threw the leg banishing all pain and stiffness. Until Castiel touched it the limb was a useless dangling lump of agony. Dean could only move the leg a little but it was more than he could before. Castiel did the same to Dean's arm and his head. In short order Dean was relatively pain free. Without the pain the drive wouldn't take more than two hours. Castiel didn't have a great deal to report. Apparently with years to go before Azazel even tries to open the devil's gate not a lot of preparation was needed in heaven.

What did one talk about with an Angel? Dean remembered that there were many things in the Bible that people got wrong, like the antichrist was not the son of Lucifer. Dean already had the inside track on revelations and the apocalypse so he went in the other direction and asked if there really was an Adam and Eve, and if so why were they tossed out of the garden. By the time they were coming up on the Sutherland Nebraska exit Castiel shattered a few myths corrected a few misconceptions and surprised Dean by confirming a few things.

"You know what sucks." Dean said as they approached the road house, "How the innocent get caught in the middle. Innocent people dieing horribly, Cass, that's just wrong."

"The innocent are received in paradise." Castiel replied, "Is it not better to be in paradise than suffering on earth?"

"I've been to heaven, Cass." Dean answered, "It wasn't paradise."

"I have never hear a complaint about heaven before." Cass said a hint of emotion in his voice.

"How many of the people you talk to in heaven have the option of going back home?" Dean asked after parking the Impala.

"I do not talk to people." Castiel answered.

"Well that explains the lack of complaints." Dean answered with a grin.

* * *

.

Dean left the hospital just before morning shift change as it was the best time to raid hospital supply cupboards. He was on the road by six thirty but didn't arrive at the roadhouse until three in the afternoon. For Dean taking nine hours to drive four hundred miles was cause for shame but at that moment he wasn't fully cognisant of the fact.

"I must go now, I should warn you." Castiel began.

"Let me guess as soon as you disappear all the pain comes back? Let me get out of the car. I have to get my stuff." Dean stalled Castiel intil he gathered his duffle.

Dean reached over the back seat grabbed a few handfuls of meds or whatever his hand touched, and stuffed them into his duffel. With his broken arm still strapped to his chest Dean draped the bag over his good shoulder and tried to walk. With the bag banging in to the cane it was awkward going.

"Wait till I get to the door before disappearing, okay?" Dean asked.

"Agreed. I wish you well Dean Winchester and God's speed." Castiel nodded solemnly.

"Thanks, take care pal." Dean answered and clumsily hobbled over to the door.

He knew the second Castiel was gone. All the pain hit him like a brick wall crashing down and laying him waste. He couldn't see straight, he couldn't think, he could hardly breath, he trembled just staying upright and he thought he was going to throw up. 'Oh no you don't you wuss!' Dean gave himself a mental slap in the face and forced his way through the door.

* * *

Lunch time and Dean still hadn't called him back. Sam was beginning to think there never was anything going on. Dean was making an excuse to call or come by. He wished Dean had just said that. "Hey Sam I'm just worried about you and want to see you." Sam would have made time for him exams or not but no Dean couldn't let him in on his feelings. Sam blamed John for that.

Maybe he'd call tomorrow, make the gesture. It would satisfy Dean's macho pride and they'd both be comforted by a visit. Maybe he'd introduce Dean to Jessica. He'd be able to find an excuse to see her that would satisfy all concerned.

* * *

**This chapter reproofed and reposted. No major changes but reads a little better I hope.  
**


	11. Chapter 11 Roadhouse

**Sam, Dean and Supernatural are not mine, too bad.**

**Another reproofed. Fixed up a few things, please read and review.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**ROADHOUSE**

The roadhouse was very much as Dean remembered it, before it burned down. Ellen called it a saloon and it was an accurate description. It was a very simple structure that resembled an old fashioned farm building. Inside Harvelle's was an unadorned bar. The main room was not overly large, the dance floor was only marginally better than a postage stamp, the juke box looked as worn as the walls and the video games were not state of the art. But the glasses were clean, the bear was cold and the pool table level. What more could one ask for in a roadhouse. There wasn't a very large crowd gathered but then it was the middle of the afternoon. A few hunters having lunch, Dean groaned. He wouldn't be lucky enough to find it empty. Looking covertly over their coffee mugs the hunters took note of him as he hobbled in. Dean made it to the bar and held on. The cane and bag slid crashing to the floor. Could this be more humiliating? The stool was too far away to reach and he knew the next step would land him on the floor. Ellen approached him carefully.

"Ellen Harvelle?" Dean asked remembering she didn't know him.

"Who's asking?" she replied carefully.

"Dean, John Winchester's son." Dean answered making sure she connected the dots.

A big welcoming grin jumped into place as she strolled up to him, "Welcome to Harvelle's Roadhouse Dean, yah I'm Ellen." she said and called over her shoulder, "Hey Jo come meet one of John Winchester's boy's." The smile slipped a little when she got a close up, "Honey you don't look so good."

"No, I've been driving hard all day. I was hoping for a room." Dean said.

He tried to sound casual, failed miserably and knew it. Dean tried to smile but he was having a hard time keeping his balance and his eyes kept shutting no matter what he did. For some reason Ellen grabbed his arm.

"Damn it when did you get out of the hospital?" Ellen asked.

When duh, think moron, oh yah, "Uhm that was six….yah six this morning. Sorry …if I'm a pain… my brother blew me off …. was ….. but this is closer."

He was sure he didn't sound right. Or was it he wasn't thinking right, he leaned forward on the bar to make it stop spinning. That was better his rubbery legs weren't in constant danger of collapsing.

"Jo get the key to the room at the end of the hall. What the hell were they thinking letting you out, you're a mess." Ellen shook her head in dismay.

"Wasn't their fault." Dean hurried to defend the guiltless medical staff. "Stay ahead a … fraud squad." Dean's rubbery legs lost the battle.

"Help somebody." Ellen called and all the hunters jumped to their feet with weapons drawn scanning the room. "Here quick before I drop him."

One rushed over and grabbed Dean and the others sat down, "Who's this beat up pain in the ass?"

"Dean, John Winchester's boy." Ellen let him take Dean's full weight and picked up his bag, "Help me get him into the back room will you Keith? I wonder what the hell he tangled with that did this to him?"

"Lead the way." Keith complied easily and half dragged the injured young man as Dean staggered after Ellen, "Looks like it might have been an ass kicking. I'm not seeing claw marks. My guess, something with a fist did some of the work on this kid. On the bed?" He asked as they arrived at the room.

"Yah please and thanks." Ellen answered and began to undress him.

Dean came to his senses long enough to look down the bed and ask, "What're you doing?"

"I'd rather not have your boots on my bedspread." Ellen answered.

Dean wiggled a boot and looked at it thoughtfully, "Sorry." then looked at Ellen with sincere regret, "Sorry." and passed out.

Keith was about to leave but seeing Ellen struggling to undress the boy the good hearted hunter pitched in and by the time Jo arrived with a bowl of worm water and towels Ellen and Keith were pulling his pants from around his ankles leaving Dean in his shorts. Seeing the strange combination leg brace and dressings and the even stranger contraption around the knee Keith took a closer look to see if something should be done and cringed, then with particular care to his every movement he slipped a pillow under it. He motioned Ellen to have a look. Her first reaction was to pull back disturbed by the sight but her second was to look closer and make sure the leg was as comfortably positioned as possible

Jo managed to keep the smile from her face, upon entering and discovering a fine example of manhood laid out practically naked on the bed. But she would have to see what he looked like when his face healed and the colour returned to normal. At the moment most of what she could see of his face was either purple, black, green or red, none of which were his natural colour. Looking more closely half his body was a mix of those colours accompanied by quit a few stitches the most prominent ones being the long gashes on his chest and the horrific one in his head.

"An ugly mess." Jo sighed, "I wonder what got so pissed at this guy."

"Not what who." Keith clarified it for the girl. "Human beings did this and from the looks of it some one who enjoys their work. Be careful around that brace. If you look close those pins are going right though the leg. I'll make a call to a cousin of mine, a therapist. See what I can find out."

"Pins sticking in his leg?" Jo was stymied, "That's got to hurt."

"Are you sure?" Ellen asked. "A man or people did this?"

"That's a boot print." Keith carefully rolled Dean on his side so Ellen could see two thirds of a boot tread on Deans back. "And look at those see how they're in a round pattern. That's not a claw that's a bottle. The arm's probably defensive wounds. That head wound could have killed but you don't try to kill a man like that. That's all about pain. Somebody wanted this boy to bleed and hurt." Jo and Ellen stared at him in silence. He shrugged, "I was a cop. A dammed good one. I know human violence when I see it. I hope some one gets the sick fuck who did this. Pardon my French."

"Well at least he got in a few licks of his own." Ellen mused noting Dean's bruised knuckles but knew he went down quickly. She'd dressed enough fist fight hands to know the difference.

"Is this a cast of some kind?" Jo asked, "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this."

"Honey be real careful about that leg. You look after him, redress those wounds lots of antibiotic ointment. See if he has any in that bag of his. Take good care of him. I have a call to make." Ellen instructed her daughter.

"Mom he has a pharmacy in this bag." Jo laughed.

"Great hun." Ellen went out the door without a backward glance. Jo had been staring not listening to Keith and that was just as well.

"So where are you?" Jo asked her mother's back as it disappeared down the hall, shrugged and turned her attention to the young hunter lying on the bed naked but for a pair of shorts.

There was definitely a suggestion of a handsome face. Discoloured yes but very handsome. The strange patches over one side of his face hid a lot but without a doubt he had a well muscled body worth noting. Dean Winchester, when she was a girl she had heard stories about him. When he was fourteen he set a Wendigo on fire with a can of bug repellent and a lighter and chased, yes chased a werewolf armed only with a silver knife. Yah, Jo had heard of him and now he was here, not a grand, swaggering heroic figure but beaten half to death. Still, with a great body and probably a handsome face. Redress and ointment she reminded herself and got to work. She paused looking at the shorts, wondering, then scolded herself. That would be tacky and shameless, she couldn't possibly. Could she?

His phone went to voice mail, she expected that, "John it's Ellen, your oldest son just hobbled into my saloon and collapsed on the floor half dead. All he managed to get out before he passed out was his name, and he was looking for a room. Somebody and that's somebody not something beat the crap out of him, John, really bad, cut him up and broken bones. What the hell is he doing coming to strangers for help? Get your ass here and look after your son."

Getting medication into an unconscious person can be a daunting task but Ellen had a simple method. Sit him up and tap his face until he was at least semi conscious or conscious enough to take a couple of pills and a few sips of water. After two days Dean's temperature reached a hundred and three. Ellen was preparing to call an ambulance when Jo pointed out there was an IV kit in Dean's bag. Ellen called a friend.

* * *

After the third time Dean's phone went straight to voice mail Sam began to worry himself into a headache. There was only one thing left to do. He scrolled to John and punched it. For all the good it did, dad's phone went right to voice mail too. Major head ache brewing. Sam went for a run to calm himself down and clear his head. He reasoned Dean didn't call because he didn't need to and because he was angry with Sam for hanging up. It was a mean thing to do, he should have fought it out with Dean. Dean wasn't dad after all. Sam knew he had to remind himself of that more often and stop lumping the two men into the same category.

Dean's exorcism of Brady had blown him away and reinforced the idea that Dean was becoming more like Dad, the mighty hunter. But he would never be as cold and indifferent to Sam's needs as their father was and should not be accorded the same treatment.

"Damn it Dean, call and let me know everything's all right and I'll even apologise for being a dick." Sam sighed as he arrived back at his room and dropped his phone to the desk, "If you don't I'll start calling around looking for you and you'll be totally humiliated. You've got to the end of the week."

He had know idea where to begin to search for Dean if he had to and he was becoming frightened.

* * *

There was a communal sigh of relief in the roadhouse when Bobby arrived armed with half a dozen saline bags. He was happy to hear the patient came equipped with his own IV kit. For one as experienced as Bobby saline is easy enough to steal at the last minute. IV kits take a little planning and effort. Ellen burst into a lovely smile when he arrived which was always a spirit lifter and it told him their patient was still strong.

"Come on, come on." She beckoned him.

"What no beer?" Bobby griped good-heartedly.

"Tell me what you got in that cooler and take it down the hall and I'll bring you a beer." Ellen offered.

"You got a deal. This is .9% normal saline." Bobby held up his beer caddy dressed up as a pharmaceutical carrier. "Which room?"

"End of the hall." Ellen started drawing Bobby's draft.

He was no more than a minute ahead of her yet when Ellen arrived he was sitting on the edge of the bed his hat clutched in one hand and Dean's hand in the other. She managed to get close enough to see his face before Bobby realized she was there. Ellen would have sworn he was crying but the big man jumped up put his cap back on and turned his back to her so he could pretend to be terribly interested in the coat rack she placed beside the bed.

"This is perfect." Bobby coughed and cleared his throat as he tried to speak.

Keeping his back to Ellen Bobby picked up a bag of saline and slid it on one of the coat hooks but that was as far as he could go until he put the peripheral IV line in Dean's hand. He just stood there reluctant to move, collecting himself.

"I'm sorry Bobby I couldn't tell you something like this over the phone. There is just no preparing some one for a shock like this." Ellen explained herself.

"I've known this boy since, … oh he wasn't even six. The first time he walked in my door I wasn't crazy to see them. My sister's kids made me real skittish but Dean won me over in one day and broke my heart just as fast."

"Broke your heart?" Ellen was afraid but had to ask.

Bobby had told many a story about Dean usually heroic and often humorous but this was new.

"What would you think of a kid who doesn't laugh or play. He just spends all his time looking after his little brother. A two year old still in diapers who was starting to walk. By the hour Dean entertained that kid, fed him, changed his diapers and when the little guy screamed at night Dean was in the crib rubbing Sam's back and singing 'Hey Jude'. He only smiled at his brother. I got him to grin from time to time at a joke but it was hard with John always ordering Dean to stop bothering me. I finely got him to laugh by having a little party for his sixth birthday. I had a child in my house, a child for three months that didn't laugh.

"I think that would break my heart too." Ellen agreed with him.

Just thinking about a six year old who went months without laughing made Ellen want to cry, then thinking about a six year old, no make that a five year old, with those responsibilities made Ellen want to kick a certain Winchester's ass.

"You heard from John?" Bobby asked Ellen.

"I wish." Ellen answered, "Got a few things to tell that guy about parenting starting with five year olds are not supposed to baby-sit."

Bobby chuckled, "That's a dangerous place to trespass."

"I've got an advantage you don't." Ellen grinned, "I am a parent and a single one. Gives me certain privileges."

Bobby chuckled appreciatively picturing John Winchester being dressed down by Ellen on a subject he deserved to be called out on. He nodded, yes he would have to witness every wonderful second of it, but for now the younger Winchester's welfare had to be addressed. First set up the IV and get the saline going, then find out how many ice packs he can get his hands on. And third …..

"Ellen you got any idea what the hell that thing is on his leg?" Bobby asked as he set to work.

"Yah a friend of mine checked into it." Ellen took a deep breath, "It was designed for an athlete to provide mobility for knee surgery while stabilizing broken bones. But there aren't to many crazy enough to try it. They call it a Stabilizing Temporary Implant Brace more commonly called the STD Brace."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up and with a grin he asked, "The what?"

"Not as funny as it sounds." Ellen smiled sadly, "It stands for Stabilizing Torture Device. It's incredibly painful, morphine won't kill it kind of painful."

Bobby nodded. That wouldn't stop Dean. Not if he couldn't hang around in a hospital, or if this was the only way to avoid an amputation he'd do it. He placed the last piece of tape on the peripheral line and hooked up the saline.

"I'd better make a phone call or two." Bobby sighed, "I'm not going to enjoy this."

"I tried calling John but of course he wouldn't pick up for me. I'm sure you'll have better luck."

"Yah I'll call him too."

"Him too?"

"I'm going to call his brother. He should know about this."

"Dean said his brother blew him off."

Ellen watched Bobby's face fall and wondered what nerve she touched this time.

"Can you tell me what exactly he said." Bobby asked, focusing intently on her face his expression crying hit me with it all.

"All he got out before he passed out was his name, and he needed a room. He was already pretty out of it." Ellen said apologising for the lack of info, "He babbled a little, apologized for being here, said his brother blew him off and we were closest."

Bobby shook his head deep in thought then turned to leave but stopped at the door. The big man heaved a big sad sigh and turned to look at Dean shaking his head before leaving.

"What is it Bobby?" Ellen asked worried though she didn't know for who, Bobby or Dean.

He hesitated a minute before admitting, "I just don't know why he wouldn't come to me."

The gears spun in Ellen's head and she grinned. "Close." she called after him stopping Bobby in the hall.

"What?" Bobby turned to look at her.

"When he started to babble he said 'We where closer'." Ellen, said with a smile, "He wasn't coming here. He knew he wasn't going to make the last two hundred and fifty miles so he got off I 80 and came here." Bobby still looked a little puzzled, Ellen razed her voice a little, "Just a little further up 80 you get highway 83 and zigzag to Sioux Falls, you know Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I believe you've traveled the route once or twice. He was headed to you."

A big happy, he loves me grin hopped across Bobby's face and just as quickly vanished, "Little idjit why didn't he call?" Bobby snarled, then answered himself, "Cause I would a come and got him but no Dean's always fine, can't put nobody out. Idjit's going to kill himself not being a bother to folks."

Jo passed Bobby as he muttered and groused and asked her chuckling mother, "What's that all about."

"Terms of endearment, Bobby Singer style." Ellen laughed, as she hooked a thumb over her shoulder,

Bobby headed down the hall to find somewhere private to make a call to John and Sam.

"Hello Sam, Bobby Singer."

"Bobby yah, hi, it's been a while." Sam was startled to hear a voice from the past. This rather reclusive man was not one to call for a chat, "What can I do for you?"

"Well we're looking for your dad, have you hear anything?" Bobby asked what he thought would be a reasonable question.

"Well that's not very likely." Sam answered.

"I'm not exactly following you." Bobby asked.

"Dad disowned me, you hadn't heard?" Sam asked.

"He's still sticking to that is he?" Bobby grumbled.

"You know our dad and you have to ask?" Sam groaned mildly amused, then asked, "Is something wrong."

"We're actually trying to track Dean's movements. Have you heard from him say, a week or two ago?" Bobby asked putting off having to tell all.

"Four days I think. I don't know where he was when he called." Sam answered starting to worry, "He was in the car."

"What happened, did he say where he was going or what he was up to the past few days?" Bobby asked starting to get a very bad feeling.

"All he'd say was he hadn't seen dad in a couple of days and he needed to lay over some where." Sam hesitated growing more concerned, "Actually he wouldn't say much of anything and we argued. I told him to call me when he was ready to tell me what was going on."

"He was looking for a place to lay over and you argued with him?" Bobby growled in disbelief, "He called you for help and you blew him off. He could have died"

"What?" Sam couldn't believe it, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you blew him off when he called you for help and he ended up unconscious on a bar room floor" Bobby snarled, "What the hell was there to argue about."

"Generally badly hurt people don't drive and talk on the phone. I don't understand, dad never left us alone if we were seriously hurt." Sam stammered, "My God if he was so bad what was he doing driving or going to a bar? Can you put my brother on the phone?"

"Dean's been out of it for four days now. We're trying to find out what he's been doing the past few weeks." Bobby rumbled back but couldn't get over it, "You hung up on him, when he called you for help? What did he say?"

"You know Bobby I wasn't really paying a lot of attention to him. My head was on one my papers." Sam confessed, "All I know about the past few weeks is Dean's been researching dad's demon curse thing, in a town called Glenwood Springs, Colorado, but they thought they had it solved. Bobby he didn't tell me he was seriously hurt."

"YOU IDJIT WOULD HE CALL YOU IF IT WASN'T SERIOUS." Bobby roared and the hunters who arrived for happy hour all turned their heads his way, "THIS IS DEAN, WE'RE TALKING ABOUT." Bobby paused to calm himself, "When was he ever not fine. He stands in my kitchen loosing blood by the pint all over my clean floor and tells me he's fine would I please look after your dad. He had a nail in his back and he was cracking jokes about it. Are you getting my drift. He actually admitted he wasn't fine. How busted up do you figure he has to be before he'll admit he's not fine?"

A cold hand gripped Sam's stomach and began to twist and turn his intestines into knots, he forced the bile back down his throat and asked, "He didn't loose any body parts did he?"

"An arm and a leg." Bobby growled into the phone.

"Damn it Bobby I'm serious." Sam's voice began to shake.

"SO AM I." Bobby fired back, "He has bolts and pins holding his shin to his thigh. A harness is keeping his left arm strapped were it belongs. The fact that we can't see one eye is a little worrisome but he's not trying to see right now if that can be called a blessing and he has a few hundred stitches holding other parts of his body together. Got to admit the ones that rebuilt his face were real neat and tidy. The big gouge across his head is a little unsettling, kinda looks like someone tried to scalp him but I guess you got more important things to do."

"I can't believe it. How did it happen?" Sam asked his voice beginning to crack, ""Bobby please I need to talk to my brother."

"I TOLD YOU HE'S BEEN UNCONSCIOUS FOR FOUR DAYS!" Bobby bellowed, "Do you need your hearing checked."

"Yah you said that, Bobby your going to look after him aren't you." Sam pleaded.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Bobby snarled offended, "I've only known you boys for damn near twenty years a course I'm going to take care of him?"

"I'm sorry it was a stupid question. I'm a little confused right know." Sam stammered trying to gain his bearings.

'You're a whole lot confused, you're priorities are screwed to hell." Bobby spoke quietly but it didn't last. He glanced threw an archway to the back where Jo was disposing of soiled dressing and his tempered flared again, "CAN'T CHAT, GOT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO!" he roared, slapped the cell phone closed and stuffed it in his pocket then noticed his audience.

Bobby scanned the bar room where a dozen hunters dropped in for a late lunch and happy hour. More than half were just passing through so he wouldn't have to face them for long. Bobby gave his jeans waist band a tug, straitened his cap and stared back at the unwilling audience to his call.

"Rotten kid had it coming." Bobby justified his behaviour and sauntered off to the back and Dean.

At the Harvelle roadhouse weekends were good. It would be after nine before many of the none hunting costumers showed up and most of them had some idea that there was a sub culture at Harvelle's but no one cared. The juke box had good music the booze was never watered down and, the strangest thing. Though there wasn't a bouncer, any time a fight broke out there was always some one there to stop it and toss the trouble maker out but the cops were never called. People really loved that in a roadhouse, so who cared if there was a ghost busters club using it as a hang out as long as they didn't bother any body. And they didn't.

Ellen found Bobby sitting by Dean's bed his brow furrowed in worry. He had the blanket pulled back revealing the braced leg. The skin all round the joint was swollen, bright red, and hot. Infection, a very dangerous condition which could cost Dean his leg.

"Is there a professional you can call?" Bobby asked.

"He's not cheep, I'll pass the hat around." Ellen answered with a nod, "I'll call right now."

Hunters were not a wealthy bunch but everyone found something to give. Anticipating more than one call Ellen got out a big pickle jar, taped "Dean Winchester medical fund." to it and set it by the cash. In the days that would follow the jar was never empty and it wasn't only hunters donating. The locals would ask what it was about and Ellen or Jo would simply answered to pay medical bills for a friend who had nothing. Everyone who asked dropped something in the jar.

* * *

Sam was shaking as he hung up the phone, the image of Dean dieing on a bar room floor stuck in his mind. He looked at the paper in progress spread out on his desk. How could he be so focused on this, suddenly very irrelevant, assignment that he didn't hear his brother's cry for help?

"You dick." he admonished himself.

But what to do, what to do? He couldn't sit there and let strangers look after his brother. Okay, Bobby wasn't a stranger but he wasn't family either. He had to go to his brother. But Dean would kick his ass if he risked flunking classes to do it. Bring his assignments with him and work on them when Dean was asleep. Damn exams. Fuck them this is more important. No Dean would tear him a new one but he just couldn't stay and Dean would always forgive him. Sam stopped packing, took a breath and forced himself to think. He had to be away until he was sure Dean would be all right but in a couple of weeks exams started. He could have someone in his classes record the lectures and, and that should be it. Provided he was back in time for exams he wouldn't screw up his year. He could look after his brother without his brother beating the shit our of him for doing it. Unless Dean wasn't on the mend by then in which case Sam wasn't coming back, the year be damned. So he had a few things to take care of before grabbing a flight.

Sam was packing his assignments when the recognizable a knock on his door. He tried to avoid this as much as possible. A casual meeting at a pub or party or bumping into each other at the library was a bitter sweet event that kept his hope alive. A false hope. She wasn't going to be alone in two or three years but he could dream. Dreaming cost him nothing. But he felt he had no right to impose on her in any way. Sam's flight was leaving in a few hours so time was a factor. One class was still not covered and there was no one left to hand this job to.

"Come in Jess." he called through the closed door.

"Jess walked in a cheery smile on her face which disappeared immediately, "Isn't this a bad time for a trip?" she asked.

"I got a call from a family friend yesterday. My brother's been hurt." Sam explained, "If my brother is admitting to being hurt bad them it's pretty much life threatening."

"Life threatening?" Jessica asked alarmed, "I don't understand."

How to explain Dean. Could normal people even conceive of someone like him? On the rare occasion when someone talked about a person like Dean they were discussing a movie or TV show. Big brother was an original most people wouldn't believe existed outside Hollywood.

"When I was young my brother carried me two miles out of the woods. He had a broken foot and wouldn't even admit he was hurt until I was looked after. I could have killed him." Sam said with a role of his eyes, "I had a mild concussion and a few stitches in my arm."

"He carried you on a broken foot?" Jessica, a future physiotherapist was having a hard time imagining it.

" I told him I was dizzy and nauseous and instead of just giving me a shoulder to lean on he piggy backs me. My brother is crazy, Jess." Sam voiced his frustration with his brother then started to chuckle, "He kept warning me not to puke on him. The pain must have been excruciating and he's threatening to kick my ass if I puke on him."

"You're brother sounds like one of a kind." Jessica laughed, "I'd like to meet him."

"Maybe you will one day." Sam said wistfully, "You're probably one of the few girls I know who would be sensible enough, to not fall for him."

"Sam, I'm not a girl." Jessica said with a playfully dirty look, "I'm a woman."

Sam smiled back admiringly and agreed, "Yes you are." then brought himself back to his senses, "Jess, I was wondering if you could do me a favour? I can't find anyone to take Professor Black's lecture tomorrow. Do you think you could find someone or ask Professor Black to tape it for me. Here's a mini recorder you could give him. If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not Sam." Jessica accepted the tape recorder, "Good luck."

Jessica managed to keep her smile as Sam hurried down the stairs but as soon as he was out of sight she rushed into the ladies room.

"Men!" she growled and kicked a stall door then sat holding her sore foot.

All men could be infuriating, this Jessica learned early in life but Sam Winchester raised the bar. What kind of man stands before a woman and tells her his life is too complicated and he can't have a relationship, while looking at her with such love and desire it was palatable. It would be easier if he told her what it was that was so complicated, why he suddenly withdrew not just from her but all their friends. He's even begun looking at people with suspicion and mistrust. This wasn't the Sam she went to Mexico with. That Sam saw a bright future for himself and whoever he shared it with. They talked for hours as they walked hand in hand exploring the sights of the historic city. Sam was everything she wanted in a man, open, kind, intelligent, confident and above all optimistic.

The man who ran down the stairs was a bundle of anxiety rapped in fear and trying to hide from everyone. It frightened Jessica how he could smile at her while lying to her face. There was one thing she knew he was being completely honest about. He was afraid of hurting her. Funny how men would say that while doing just that. Something worth having rarely came easy and Jessica wasn't afraid of hard. The love and passion she saw in his eyes was as strong as hers for him. That was worth having, worth fighting for.

On the way to the airport Sam called Bobby. He wasn't sure of the reception he'd receive. Sam's memories of Bobby Singer were a little vague. He remembered the junkyard and a burly man in a beat up cap who kind of growled a lot but never seemed very threatening. One thing he did remember very clearly was that he was hard to ruffle. Oh he could huff and puff and wasn't the most patient man in the world but he handled crises with an air of calm. For Bobby to be that upset the situation had to be critical. But then Dean out for four days sort of said it all. What was he doing driving if he was that badly hurt. Crazy, reckless Dean.

"Hi Bobby, this is Sam." He began hesitantly, "I'm on my way to the airport to catch a flight to Denver. Then I'll be transferring to a flight to Sioux Falls?"

"What are you doing?" Bobby stammered clearly annoyed.

"I'm coming to look after my brother." Sam answered confused, wouldn't that be expected of him?

"Well Sam we're not at my place." Bobby grumbled, "He passed out in a roadhouse remember. We're in Sutherland Nebraska. The Harvelle roadhouse, it's a couple of miles east of Sutherland on highway 30. North Platt isn't even twenty miles out up the highway. If you can catch a flight there I'll come and get you."

"Thanks Bobby." Sam sighed, "How is he, still out cold."

"His temperature's holding at a hundred and three which is pretty damned bad. It's the leg." Bobby gave it to him straight, "We're waiting on a doctor this afternoon. We may have to take him to a hospital. They'll probably take it off."

"No Bobby don't do that." Sam gasped alarmed, "Common you gotta know Dean would never go along with that."

"He may not have a choice." Bobby huffed, though he knew Sam was right, "He could die, Sam."

"No he won't." Sam declare as fact, "Dean is tough, some times I think tougher than dad and just as belligerent. You stand beside his bed and tell him to just give it up and die and he'll live just to be obstinate. Please Bobby pack him in ice, pour fluids into him and don't do anything until I get there, please."

"I'll call you after the doctor sees him."

Sam was never so relieved as when while waiting for his connecting flight to North Platt Bobby called to tell him the doctor said to give it another twenty-four hours. He'd come back and give the verdict then. Bobby figured the X morphine junky was just looking for another pay day but Sam didn't care. As long as Dean still had his leg and was still fighting.

Bobby didn't raise the subject of Sam hanging up on Dean, and he was grateful. What could he say. Instead he filled Sam in on everything that had been done for Dean and what would be done if bad came to worse. It was a great relief and even a little uplifting to know Dean had so much support. But it didn't quiet his fears for his brother. Something that could topple Dean like this and worry so many wouldn't be easily defeated. Arriving at the roadhouse Sam grabbed his back pack and duffle asking 'Where's my brother?' and was rushing to the door before Bobby had a chance to answer.

Sam was ushered to a room at the end of a hall behind the bar by a very subdued woman and her hostile teenaged daughter. In a comfortable double bed lay Dean bathed in sweat. He had bandages over every area of his body, his leg in some horrible contraption one would expect to find in a dungeon and a patch over one eye. Sam dropped his bags where he stood and stumbled over to the bed. Hurt, this was what Dean called hurt? Of course it is, if nails in his back are a joke and broken feet can be walked on than this is what it takes for Dean to say 'hurt'. Sam dropped down on his knees and did something he hadn't in a very long time. Sam prayed, with all his heart, with all his soul, with ever once of sincerity in his body he prayed. He stayed on his knees until the need to do something affirmative overwhelmed him.

Unlike Jo, Ellen wasn't angry with Sam. Boys could be very short sighted, well all teenagers could be and being twenty did not launch Sam into the category of older and wiser. Ellen wondered if he was still praying two hours later . Possible. He was an hour ago and he was a Winchester, which made him pigheaded. He'd hound God until he got what he wanted. The door was slightly ajar as it always was so softly Ellen entered a lunch tray in her hands. And almost dropped it. Sam was leaning over the bed and if first impressions were accurate he stopped hounding God and started on his brother.

"Quit's a four letter word remember, you taught me that. Winchesters don't quit. Have you given up being a Winchester?" Sam spoke softly at Dean's ear, "If you don't get fighting you're going to lose that leg and I'll call you beg leg Pete for the rest of you're life. I'll torment you with bad jokes. I'll never let you forget how you quit.

"Come on Dean you've never let me down. One of the main reason's I'm never afraid is cause I know you're out there. Just one call and Dean's right there if I need him. You've proved that." he paused a moment , "Who's going to protect me, dad? You said it your self you raised me. Are you going to make me an orphan? Who'll come to my graduation, who'll be best man at my wedding? See, I still believe. You said so, so I believe whatever this is we'll make it through and one day I'll go back to my normal life and get married and there is no why I'm naming my first kid after you so you get up out of that bed and kick my ass. Now Dean before you end up peg leg Pete who can be taken down by you're kid brother."

"Now if that doesn't get him moving nothing will." Ellen affirmed.

Sam visibly jumped at the sound of the voice, "Yah snuck up on me. That's not easy."

"How often are you that involved?" She excused him.

Sam adjusted one of the ice packs cooling Dean before coming to his feet and sitting in the big chair that until that moment was Bobby's. His eyes were red and his cheeks stained from tears. He was a sad sight every bit as pitiable as Dean.

"Here, macaroni and cheese a favourite lunch around this place."

"No thank you." Sam smiled appreciative of the kindness, "But I'm not hungry."

"You're eating. One Winchester down is all I can handle." Ellen put the tray on the little table Bobby had been using for the past twenty fourty hours.

"Oh I promise I won't be any trouble." Sam hurried to reassure her.

"You're damned right you won't cause you're going to look after yourself if I have to convince you with the help of a base ball bat." Ellen insisted dropping a napkin in his lap and holding out the fork.

"Uhm, Mrs.?"

"Ellen, now get this straight. We may never have met but I've been hearing about you boys for fifteen years." Ellen informed him in her best no nonsense voice. "I have pictures of you two on a mantle over my fire place."

"Pictures?" Sam gasped.

"Yah your dad was afraid of something happening to them so he left a scrap book of pictures and I framed a few." Ellen explained, "Every time he came by we'd listen to his stories about you boys while he stared at those pictures. Now start eating boy, we're family."

"Not all bad stories I hope." Sam said sheepishly, while thinking 'Why couldn't he show us his human side?'

"Bragging might be a better word." Ellen laughed, "Dean the great hunter and ladies man and Sam the scholar." she paused a moment, stuck the fork in his face and held it there until he took it, "When he wasn't talking about the job he was talking about you two."

"Did you see a lot of him?" Sam asked out of curiosity.

"Maybe every other month some times more often. Why?" Ellen mused.

"Then you saw him as often as we did." Sam grumbled but began to eat the very tasty macaroni and cheese.

"Spent a lot of time with babysitters did you?" Ellen asked sitting carefully on the bed so they were at eye level.

"For the first few years dad would have someone come by once a day but when Dean was about twelve he didn't bother any more. You know Dean's mac and cheese wasn't this good and I always liked his."

"He left you alone, for how long?" Ellen asked clearly upset.

Sam put down his fork and glanced around the room for somewhere to hide. Dean could make a mistake like that. He didn't know what normal was. But Sam knew better. He was sure the colour in his cheeks was answering for him.

"How long and don't try to lie. I'm not just the wife of a hunter, I hunted myself until Jo was born." Ellen pushed.

"Well he'd come back every week or so when we were little." Sam hopped was marginally acceptable.

"Then when Dean was twelve?" Ellen wanted more.

"A little longer sometimes." Sam grudgingly admitted.

"And by the time Dean was fourteen?"

"Oh a month easy." Sam surrendered.

"You weren't kidding when you said Dean raised you." she sighed, reached out and patted Dean's arm before getting up from the bed then paused at the door on her way out and asked, "You don't know what happened to him, right?"

Sam shook his head no then sank into the chair. _'Dean's going to kill me.'_

Ellen found Bobby at the bar having his lunch. A double order of mac and cheese. Keith a regular at Harvelle's was beside him having the same meal. Ellen always made extra when hunters were in the vicinity. They both greeted her with complements on the meal.

"My God you boys are easy to please." Ellen returned with a big smile, "Do you think it would be helpful to know what the hell happened to that boy in there?"

"Damned helpful." Bobby agreed, "With Sam here to sit with him I'm going out to Glenwood to find out what I can. Get a hold of some police records, maybe medical too."

"Why don't you let me do it?" Keith the helpful hunter offered, a gesture that raised Bobby's eye brows, "My partner's out of commission for another couple of weeks. It'll give me something to do besides go stir crazy. Where did you say it was?"

"Glenwood Springs, Colorado." Bobby answered, "It's a six hour drive from here."

"Give me a couple of days to dig everything up and I'll be back by the weekend. Sound good?" Keith asked.

Both Bobby and Ellen nodded with a smile.

Dean became aware someone was running a cool wet cloth over him but couldn't manage to open his eyes much less tell someone to take their hands off him and respect his privacy. He was also aware that this place where ever it was, was comfortable, no springs pocking him in the back and it smelled clean although it seemed a bit noisy. Did he smell flowers? Was that Lavender? Dean took several deep breaths and poured all his strength into one communication attempt.

"Who's there?" he croaked.

"Hi there." a sweet young voice answered.

Dean managed to open his eyes to find a lovely young blond with a wash cloth in her hand.

"I know you." he managed before his eyelids slammed shut again.

He was sure he did. He knew the face but couldn't quite place it. The image faded. When he opened his eyes again the place had grown silent and dark. There was a suggestion of sound coming from some where near by, a window, life awakening. Dawn approaching. Covers were pulled up under his chin, he'd been tucked in. There was something comforting about that. A lamp beside the bed clicked on and the last face he expected to see came into view. Dad?

* * *

**Worried?**


	12. Chapter 12 Flash Point

**Sam, Dean and Supernatural are not mine, much to my regret.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE **

**FLASH POINT**

"Well Ace, look what you found or did it find you?" John smiled at his oldest son, "I'm glad you're doing all right. You land on your feet no matter what. That always gave me peace of mind. So how did you find this place?"

"I was headed for Bobby's but I had to pull off. Made a couple of calls." Dean answered, "I came here to ask for help, some where to stay for the night."

"What was wrong with the motel?" John asked, "You could have killed yourself driving like that."

"Dad, I'm too busted up to look after myself." Dean made a painful admission, "How did you know I was here?"

"Ellen left me a kick my ass kind of message." John answered with a half grin, "Got another one from Bobby."

"Sorry about that." Dean apologized, a little worried.

"No big, but reaching Bobby's would have been better." John answered ignoring the increase in the voices in his head.

"That was the plan."

"You have some help." John pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the bed.

There sleeping with a book in his lap sat Sam. When the hell did that happen? Dean distinctly remembered Sam hanging up on him, so how did he get here in one night and above all why?

"I don't get it." Dean admitted, "When I talked to him yesterday he wasn't too happy to hear from me."

"According to the last message I received you've been delirious since you arrived here, four days ago" John informed him.

"Oh shit."

"My guess, someone called Sam and he came running." John grinned, surprised to realize he was happy the boys weren't fighting.

The buzzing in his head grew more persistent the moment he climbed in the bedroom window. Each message was more hostile than the last and it was all about Dean.

'_What was Dean doing coming here and stirring up trouble for him, ruining his reputation, possibly costing him friends. It was bad enough Dean was disrespecting him privately but now he was taking it outside the family and humiliating him.'_

John pushed the voices into the back of his mind determined to not listen. It wasn't Dean's fault, he told the Lyssa, leave me and my boy alone.

"I have to go Ace, I just wanted to see for myself that you're okay." John lied.

If Dean was in Ellen's care John knew he would be alright. He didn't know why he came and that fact scared the hell out of him. He came, he saw and now he could leave and God willing never see Dean again until the Lyssa was gone. It would be so much easier to ignore the voices if they didn't all sound like him. The only way to tell what were his ideas and what was the Lyssa was the intensity of the hostility toward Dean.

"I'll be alright dad, don't worry about me." Dean assured him.

"Dad?" came a startled cry from the other side of the bed.

John slowly came to his feet and smiled, happy to be this close to his youngest, happy to hear his voice.

"Been a long time, Sammy." John greeted him.

"A little late aren't you?" Sam snapped.

Sam wondered at the nerve of their father showing up here after leaving Dean alone. He always showed up after the worst was past. Sam would never forget a time long ago when John left them food for a week and didn't come home for two. They lived on canned goods Dean stole from a grocery and used the money he panhandled for milk. Dean was chased six blocks by the police for panhandling and tore his jeans in the process for which he was sent to bed without supper when John came home. Sam was only eight years old but old enough to know their father wasn't being fair so he whimpered through dinner refusing to eat unless Dean did. Sam was sent to bed without supper too. He marched off to the bedroom he shared with Dean, his head high and his chin out. Even if Dean thought there was no reason for both of them to be hungry Sam was very satisfied with himself. It wouldn't be the last time Sam defended Dean but those moments decreased as time passed. Dean wasn't open to having a champion and Sam grew to see Dean as his father's satellite.

"Sam?" John asked confused.

"To start worrying about Dean. I can't believe you left him like this?" Sam launched his assault, "He could have died. You should have been there but then you never are, are you?"

"Sam this isn't the time or place for this conversation." John snarled, "You have no idea what we're going through and you don't want to know. You opted out of our lives, remember."

"Sam will you leave dad and me alone?" Dean hurried to get rid of Sam. There was no guarantee that he was the only target or that dad wouldn't just blow.

"I was just going to college, you were the one that said don't come back." Sam fired back ignoring Dean, "No matter what, Dean will always be my brother and what happens to him matters to me. But it obviously doesn't matter to you."

"You don't know what matters to me and you don't care about either one of us or you won't have left." John growled at Sam.

"Sam I want you to leave, now!" Dean barked.

"Shut up, Dean." John snapped.

'_Who the hell does Dean think he is giving orders. Always causing trouble between Sam and I. Completely irresponsible. Little bastard doesn't decide when I can talk to Sam. _

"Don't talk to him like that." Sam spoke up for Dean.

"I'll talk any damned way I please." John snarled.

"Sam, go now!" Dean ordered Sam out and tried to sit up.

"I told you to shut up!" John roared and slapped Dean across the face.

'_Never listens damn him. Can't follow a simple order. Never could get anything right. Always coming between me and Sam. Undermining my authority.'_

Sam was completely taken aback. How could anyone who was not absolutely evil hit someone so completely defenceless? As hostile as Sam was toward his father he never thought of him as evil. He must be drunk out of his mind, but that was no excuse. Not one Sam would accept even if Dean always did.

"I can't believe you did that!" He roared at his father as he charged around the bed to confront John.

"Get the fuck out of here." Dean roared at Sam.

Sam didn't even hear him. He tried to grab his father, to shake him, to scream in his face, to do something, he didn't know what. Before Sam even has a chance to lay hand on his father John back handed the boy so hard Sam hit the wall with a mighty thud momentarily stunning him.

"Dad stop!" Dean roared in desperation.

John in a fury turned his attention back to Dean clamping his hand over Dean's face.

"I told you to shut up, boy!" John ordered, "Just how hard is it for your simple mind to grasp that concept."

Dean kicked with his one good leg and dug his nails into his fathers arm making him let go for just a moment. Long enough for Dean to yell at Sam to get help before John grabbed Dean by the throat. Sam didn't have to make the decision of helping Dean or running for help. Sleeping on the other side of the wall Sam went flying into was Bobby. The chatter in Dean's room disturbed him to begin with and the resounding thud brought him, a revolver in hand. Bobby burst into the room to find John standing over Dean, his hand around his son's throat slowly squeezing and Sam struggling to his feet dazed, blood dripping from his mouth. It took a minute for Bobby to accept what he was seeing, to believe it.

"How many times do I have to tell you something, you worthless, piece of shit." John was snarling as he slowly choked the life out of Dean.

Bobby attacked John with the pistol thumping him on the top of his head bringing John to his knees but not for long. John was up and on Bobby before the man had a chance to see if Dean was alright. A wrestling match ensued with much swinging of fists, grunting and cursing. It ended with the firing of a shot. Bobby and John froze while Sam rushed to Dean's side muttering words of comfort and checking his throat.

"What the hell's going on here!" Ellen demanded rifle in hand

"You're not going to believe it." Bobby growled climbing to his feet, "I don't believe it."

He grabbed a mildly dazed John hauling him to his feet and slamming him into a wall.

"A thick skull like yours I should have used a baseball bat. You got ten seconds before I start knocking you around again. Talk!" Bobby demanded.

"How could you do that?" Sam roared at this father.

"Sam, shut the fuck up!" Dean croaked through his swollen throat, and everyone looked at him, "Lyssa!" Was all he said.

"You?" Bobby asked in disbelief giving him another shove before letting go, "What the hell is going on?"

"I think I asked that question already." Ellen reiterated, "Now answer it!"

They were silent. John hadn't experienced silence since he regained conscientiousness in the motel room in Glenwood. It had only lasted a day but it was that day that allowed him to recognize the difference between his own thoughts and the voices. Without the voices prodding him on, the rage slowly dissipated. John wanted to wallow in the brief reprieve from the madness in his head. He took a moment to cherish it before turning his attention to the threat he had become to his son.

"Can we leave before I'm set off again." John finely spoke up.

Bobby gave John a shove to the door while Ellen backed up not taking her eyes or the gun off John leaving Sam and Dean alone.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked his voice raspier than usual.

"That's got to be the stupidest question you've ever asked." Sam answered shaking his head, "You should have told me how badly you were hurt and why dad wasn't looking after you."

"I shouldn't have had to." Dean answered sadly his eyes starting to shut, but he forced them open again, "Sam make sure they don't hurt him. You can't exorcise the Lyssa."

"You're right, Dean." Sam admitted regretfully as he checked Dean's temperature at his ear. Down two degrees, "You shouldn't have had to. I'll check on him."

"What's going on?" Jo asked appearing in the door way.

"Some family drama." Sam answered bringing a smile to Dean's face, "Could you watch Dean a minute while I check on things. He's awake and his fever's broken but sit with him anyway, okay?"

Jo sat by Dean's bed her eyebrows in her bangs, "You call gunshots family drama? Some family."

"We are unique." Dean grinned, "I know you."

"Sort of." Jo grinned back, "You opened your eyes a couple of times over the past couple of days."

"Days?" '_Oh yah, been here days.'_

* * *

Sam slowly quietly entered the bar to find John sitting on a bar stool being confronted by a very hostile Bobby and none to pleased Ellen. John was glaring at them arguing. They didn't understand and John didn't seem to think he had to explain himself._ 'Typical John Winchester, he explains nothing and answers to no one.'_ Sam thought, _'Well he is going to explain everything to me.'_

"Why didn't you call me!" Sam demanded, "Dean wouldn't tell me, he always protects you but you should have for his sake. He needed someone he could go to for help, someone who would understand but you left him out there hanging. What's wrong with you, how could you do that? He would never do that to you."

"I had to get away so I wouldn't hurt him!" John barked in his defence resenting that he had to.

"You didn't get him any help either." Sam roared, motivated as much by guilt as anger with his father. "He called to tell me he was banged up. That should have been a clue. He wouldn't call me unless it was life or death. But for Dean **you,** should have told me everything."

"Tell me Sam why didn't you come to see him then?" John sneered.

"Why do you think? He told me not to." Sam snapped right back, "You know Dean's song 'Dean's fine, Dean's always fine. ' There's no way of knowing whether he's fine or not. So what are you going to do know?"

"Get the hell away from him before I hurt him again." John growled, "Do you have a better idea?"

"Just," Sam hesitated shaking his head then gave up, "It's always about you isn't it. You have to get away so you don't hurt him, not so he won't get hurt. Fine. Do it. Just go away dad."

With an unmistakable look of disgust Sam marched down the hall back to Dean. John heaved a big sigh returning Sam's expression. When he turned to face Bobby and Ellen again his expression quickly turned to mild distress and frustration.

* * *

"My dad said something about four days." Dean muttered, "I've been out four days?"

"In and out. You babbled sometimes." Jo giggled, "You can be pretty funny. And scary sometimes too."

"Scary?" Dean tried to grin, "Hunters can have some wicked nightmares. Occupational hazard."

"Yah, my dad was a hunter." Jo nodded in agreement, "I remember hearing noises once and when I peeked in my parents room my mom was holding my dad while he cried. Now that really scared me."

"I'll bet."

"I remember stories about you." Jo changed the subject, "Did you really chase a werewolf with nothing but a silver letter opener?"

"I don't know." Dean thought for a minute. Didn't dad tear him a new one for letting a werewolf get close to Sam?

"Yah he sure did." Sam called from the door, "The werewolf was chasing me and Dean was hot on it. He jumped on it's back stabbing it in the chest screaming at it 'Die you son of a bitch, die.' and it did. Check his arm. He has claw marks where it tried to rip his arm off."

"Yah, I saw those. You have a few scars Dean." Jo grinned, "I'll bet there's a story for everyone."

Dean first grinned then scowled and asked, "How do you know about my scars?"

"We tried to bring your temperature down with cool bed baths and alcohol rubs." Jo replied without the slightest shame.

"Awkward." Dean muttered after a moments silence.

"Jo can I talk with my brother, alone?" Sam asked.

"No problem." she answered with a shrug.

On her way out the door Jo looked over her shoulder and gave Dean a smile that spoke volumes. The skimpy little nightie and her hips swaying as she moved created a picture that was enough to put a blush on any mans face. The fact that she was barely eighteen made it all the more disturbing. This was not the Jo Dean remembered and he wasn't sure he liked it. Besides the word jail bait came to mind and Mommy has a rifle was another thought

"So you okay?" Sam asked.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look like shit." Sam answered unsympathetically, "Looks like I'm going to have to wait before kicking your ass."

"Again?" Dean asked genuinely confused.

"For not telling me about this." Sam gave him the bitch face as he sat, "You said you hurt your leg and you were having trouble seeing out of one eye. Not your leg is completely smashed and you're half blind and what are those things on your face?"

"Silicone patches. Sam this isn't something you tell a person over the phone and what does is matter anyway. I'm going to be fine." Dean muttered a little annoyed himself, "What are you bitching about anyway? You hung up on me."

"Yah, I'm sorry about that." Sam apologised, "But I new something was up and you weren't talking to me. You know how much I hate that need to know bullshit."

"Sammy, the problem is trust." Dean snapped, "You still think I lie to you. I said I was hurt. What did you think I was holding back, the gruesome details? Well yah, I wasn't going into it over the phone. What do you expect?"

"I don't know." Sam admitted, "You're right. I'm not trusting you the way I should and I don't know why except that maybe I keep thinking of you the same why I think of dad."

"Didn't we do this who's like dad bullshit already?" Dean asked.

"Yah and believe me I've been kicking myself about it." Sam assured him.

"That's not the point Sammy." Dean sighed finding it hard to keep his eyes open, "You need to trust me if we're going to deal with this shit. It's just you and me and if you can't have a little faith in me we're screwed."

"Believe me Dean I realize that now. Trust me, I'll be here for you to. This won't happen again." Sam promised.

"Forget the apologies, just tell me you trust me. " Dean forced from his lips but his eyes fluttered closed before Sam could answer."

* * *

"Bobby, Ellen, move Dean. Take him somewhere I won't find him and damn it don't ever tell me where. Ever." John implored.

"He won't stay put for long and we can't stop him from looking for you." Bobby pointed out the obvious.

"He won't look for me, he's not stupid." John muttered.

"That's a matter of perspective." A new voice announced from the door way.

"Keith, when did you get in?" Ellen asked, "Didn't you say it would take a couple of days?"

"Everyone there was so worried about your boy they gave it up easy." Keith answered stepping into the bar and raising a pistol., "I thought I should get back here and worn you as soon as possible. Please step away from that bastard."

"Worn us?" Bobby kept looking from Keith to John who the gun was aimed at, "What are you talking about?"

"He damn near killed his own son." Keith informed them his voice filled with venom, "One witness said the kid was pleading for his life."

Bobby and Ellen each took several steps away from John, Ellen raising her shot gun again. Ellen's face was a picture of horror while Bobby was confused and disappointed, but both didn't want to be standing too close. It was as if he had suddenly become a leper.

"The Lyssa, Bobby you know that." John declared as his eyes leaped from one to the other.

"You tried to kill him?" Bobby needed to hear it again.

"IT tried but IT couldn't push me that far." John defended himself, "Nothing could ever push me that far, not even this."

"Dean warned me." Sam called as slowly stepped into the room his frustration with his father escalating with every denial of responsibility.

As all heads turned to him he declared, "He warned me not to go near you, then he told me you were fine. But he never told me you tried to kill him. How could you do that?"

"Sam I'm being driven crazy by a Lyssa. It's a demon." John explained clearly frustrated and growing angry, "I become irrational, furious over nothing. It's hard to explain."

"Dean explained it." Sam choked moving slowly toward his father, "You get crazy pissed over everything and anything. Even chewing to loud."

"Exactly Sam, it's irrational." John confirmed, "You must know I would never hurt your brother."

"I could never figure out why you were hitting him before." Sam barked, why can't he apologise, show some measure of remorse, just this once, "He didn't seem to know most of the time either. A new bruise would appear and he'd just say I did something wrong. I can't imagine what a ten year old could do to earn a bunch in the head. Were you sober when you went nuts? I doubt it."

"That's enough Sam." John roared, "There are a lot of things you don't understand."

"A punch in the head?" Ellen repeated, "You're speaking figuratively right?"

"No, literally a punch in the head or the face." Sam snapped, "Explain it to me dad. What set you off this time?"

"A rage demon!" John roared again, "I never beat you brother. I never did anything like that and wouldn't. You should know that. Ask him you're self."

"Dean say anything against you, never!" Sam roared his rage exploding, "No matter how badly you treated him he never said a thing against you. It always made me as angry at him as I was at you."

"That's classic." Keith spoke up again, "Stereotypical of abused children. They work there asses off trying to earn the abusive parents approval and blame themselves when they fail." When everyone stared at him in surprise he shrugged, "Sixteen years on the Chicago police force you learn a few things."

"Abused? I never thought of it like that." Sam admitted.

"I never beat Dean." John roared.

Somewhere in the back of his mind John remembered a little boy, a spirit of vengeance in a grave yard shrieking at him about abusing his son and trying to punish him for it. Spirits of vengeance don't lie. But other voices spoke louder. Voices pointing out how Dean brought this all on him by coming here and exposing him to all this ridicule, Dean disobeying him, Dean countermanding his orders, Dean disrespecting him in front of others. He was probably telling tales behind his back and discussing family business with others. All reason and rational thought that told John these idea's weren't true, weren't even his became buried under the agitated noise and the rising fury.

"You punched a ten year old in the head." Ellen screamed and viciously slapped John's face.

John raised a fist to hit her back but Bobby grabbed Ellen pulling her out of the way and Keith was beside her in a second, a gun at John's head his face a stone cold mask.

"Don't even think it." Keith warned, "I will send you to hell."

Sam was startled by the sudden burst of activity. He just wasn't used to all the violence anymore. With his eyes locked on his father he saw what Dean had been talking about. How his features were twisted and his eyes crazed. This wasn't their father. This was demon madness. John Winchester would never hit a woman, one that wasn't possessed or a monster. But this man in front of him would. Sam stepped in front of Ellen.

"Dad look at me, it's Sam please look at me." Sam pleaded with him, "You're stronger than this. You can beat it."

John only grabbed Sam and shoved him toward the hall snarling, "Go get your brother. He's the one I want to talk to!"

"When hell freezes over!" Bobby growled grabbing John with the intention of dragging him out of the roadhouse.

John had other plans swinging hard landing a blow to Bobby's solar plexus and another to the chin sending his friend staggering back. Keith raised his pistol to fire. He had seen the police photo's, read the reports, so much like many other photo's he'd seen of beaten children brutalized by the very people they should have been safest with. A Lyssa was it? Some demon made him do it? There was something to practiced about that beating. It was about pain not punishment. A man who punches a boy in the face when he's ten, in Keith's book is a sadistic coward who doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

"No!" Sam screamed and shoved Keith's arm upward sending the shot into the ceiling.

How ever angry Sam may be he wouldn't see his father killed. And he wouldn't see him being beaten by a friend or beating one. Sam quickly stepped in between John and Bobby, "Dad stop it now!" he yelled but when John grabbed him again, years of fighting and years of watching Dean being hit exploded in a mighty punch to his father's face, then another. John exploded right back with a ferocious backhand that send Sam into the bar.

"Son of a bitch!" Bobby roared and began pummelling John.

Though he didn't seem to feel it John kept moving back until his back was against the bar and with a quick sweep of his hand he scooped up an empty picture and brought it down on the big man's head sending him staggering.

Keith had enough of the sidelines and stepped in. Suddenly the action was fast and furious. Both men were about the same age and both military trained, John the marine and Keith was army. John had twenty years hunting to Keith's eight but Keith had sixteen years on the Chicago police force which was a dangerous gig. John was heavier with a more powerful build but Keith was faster, more agile and had more energy …, but he wasn't expecting dirty. They were jabbing at each other making hits, causing damage, blood was being drawn. Keith was starting to gain the advantage. But not for long. He should have known better. One of the first things a hunter learns is there's no such thing as fair in this business. It must have been on the ledge near the cue rack. An eight ball to the chin. If John had got a better swing at it he might have broken Keith's jaw. Poor Keith went down falling back into a rack of cues as the pain radiated through his face to his head leaving him temporarily stunned.

Bobby was on him but John grabbed a cue and swung it at Bobby. Bobby had enough presence of mind to pin the stick to his side with his left arm and started swinging with his right trying to break John's jaw. Bobby knew the old friend wasn't in his right mind but he was when Dean was ten, eleven and every year until a couple of weeks ago. There was a lot of rage in those punches. Johns face began to look like it had been run over largely do to Bobby's furry and John knew he was loosing the battle on all fronts. He gave Bobby a right jab just to slow him down then gave him a left hook to get the pool cue out of his arm and succeeded. Bobby came back with a serious hit to the solar plexus but John laid him out with the cue. John heard a cry of rage but ignored it when he felt a kick to his gut from the opposite direction. It left him gasping and in pain but he swung the cue blindly at his attacker, grazing Sam's head, stunning him. But John wasn't given a moments rest. Keith was up and in the fight. A fist landed in John's rib cage and another in his side but the big hunter was a stubborn man who knew how to take abuse. He ignored the pain and stayed on his feet swinging the cue back around. He brought it down on Keith's collar bone then dug a heal into the back of his knee. One arm clearly disabled, in pain and very angry with himself Keith flailed and struggled for leverage to get back up on his feet. While John was paying attention to Keith Bobby managed to get a hold of the pool cue and grab it out of his hand. It didn't last long. John was on him wrestling for it.

Sam was up again but this time thinking rather than in a blind furry. He came up behind his dad and brought both fists down on the back of his head expecting him to drop. Any normal man would have hit the floor but John was driven. He pulled and twisted hard spinning Bobby around and right into Sam landing the lighter young man on the floor. Down but not out Sam swung a powerful leg under his father's feet bringing him down but just as quickly John kicked out landing a boot into Sam's head before jumping on Bobby who swung the pool cue still in his hand but to no avail. The wrestling match began again but this time on the floor with John on top. He put all his weight onto the cue pressing down. And down and down.

Ellen who had been rushing from one felled hunter to the other was trying to help Sam to his feet when she realized as did Sam that the pool cue was at Bobby's throat. She rose to put a boot into the thick scull of John Winchester when, much to her distress, someone else got into the act.

Screaming and grabbing John's jacket had no affect, therefore there was only one thing left to do and quickly before Ellen did anything and John turned on her. Dean grabbed the front of his jacket pulled up and before John could counter the move Dean slammed a fist in his face.

"Dad you're killing Bobby!" He screamed as he struck his father in the eye.

It worked. John let go of the cue. Everyone could hear the sudden intake of breath followed by choking sounds. What beautiful sounds they were. Keith who had managed to find a wall to climb actually smiled. He would have born heavy guilt if the likable curmudgeon had died while he was crawling up a wall like an invalid. John rose quickly took one look at Dean and his face twisted from rage to madness.

"**Just the little bastard I wanted to see**." He bellowed and his hammer of a fist slammed into Dean's face, "You useless, millstone around my neck, I'm going to …"

Dean had been balancing on his one good leg putting no more weight on the other than he had to. Without proper leverage there wasn't a lot in his punch but enough to get his father's attention. If he could have, for Bobby, he would have given it more. John swung hard landing a masterful blow to Dean's face sending him flying, his leg and brace clanging to the floor. Even if he'd been prepare for it Dean couldn't have kept from crying out. It felt like some one had reached in with pliers and twisted and stabbed at his bones sending shock waves of pain all through his body.

A communal cry of outrage erupted in the bar from all there. Ellen being most able was first too act, she took up the pool cue and jabbed it into John's gut then as he doubled over she brought her knee to his nose sending him flying back. There Sam added a heavy boot to the chest but John recovered enough to grab the limb and jab his elbow into his son's leg sending a stab of pain that ran up his spine completely disabling the leg. John was up and moving.

'Oh my God, oh my God.' Dean could hear Ellen as she gently tried to straiten his leg without causing more pain but all he could do was stare at the ceiling and try to stop shaking as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He heard a cry of pain and rage as Ellen literally flew away from him. Suddenly his fathers face appeared in front of him. John grabbed a fist full of Dean's T shirt his other hand curled in a fist.

"You did it again! You did it again!" John hissed.

_'Would he, in front of all these people?'_ "Dad please?" Dean begged not loudly just between them, "Don't kill me."

"I don't believe it." John's voice raised as Ellen ran for a pool cue.

"Please dad don't." The fist hadn't moved giving Dean hope that he found the trigger that would stop him. It had before. "Dad don't you let it kill me."

A knee landed on John's back and a pool cue jammed up under his throat yanking him back away from Dean.

"Hands down or I crush your wind pipe." Bobby rasped but when John didn't comply he added, "I'm tempted to do in now, just on principle, but Dean wouldn't forgive me. Don't push you're luck."

Over his dad's head Dean could see Bobby as furious and as serious as he had ever seen the man. His eyes were hard and filled with angry determination and his mouth was drawn in a tight thin line as he continued to pull John back from Dean. John dropped the fist and grabbed the cue but the gritted teeth and angry eyes told Dean he was ready to fight given the opportunity but quickly, the madness had begun to wane and confusion began to surface. The confusion increased when his eyes fell on Ellen standing over Dean's head a pool cue in hand, poised at her shoulder like a batter at the plate.

Keith crouched beside Ellen his bad arm resting in the crook of his good arm and his automatic in hand. He was joined by a limping Sam all compassion gone from his face and Ellen's rifle in his hand aimed at his father.

"Ellen could you look after my brother while we look after my father?" Sam asked so calmly and reasonably it frightened Dean.

Ellen nodded and lowered her cue to returned to her ministering of Dean. Bobby held on to his. Keith smiled and shook his head like he had found the secret to a great mystery or maybe he just had one piece of a puzzle and sometimes for a hunter that's a lot.

"The great John Winchester, now I get what's great about you." Keith said, "It isn't that you're a great fighter, your just good, not great. I had you when you got dirty. It's that you'll do whatever it takes to win and you'll keep coming back no matter how bad it gets. That's how you win, busted and bloody and dirty as hell but on top."

"To get the bad guy that's what you got to do in this business." John choked but flashed a superior grin like an all knowing old master.

"What? Become what you hunt?" Keith asked, "Think I'll pass. Besides your son isn't a bad guy, you stupid son of a bitch."

"No he's not." John sighed sadly, "Are you alright Ace? Sam, did I hurt you?"

"He'll be fine." Sam snapped answering for Dean, "You're leaving now and don't ever come near him again or I'll beat the crap out of you."

"Sam." John began but choked, "Having trouble breathing Bobby." John complained. "Knee in the back really hurts too."

"Do you really expect any consideration John Winchester." Ellen demanded as she helped Dean sit up. "Look at this. This isn't what he's supposed to look like. Look here." she pointed to his leg, "Do you realize his leg is never going to completely heal?"

"Yes it will." John barked refusing to accept he permanently damaged his son. That would be just do damned horrible to live with.

"And how do you figure that." Ellen demanded.

"Bobby he's got a gun on me do you mind." John complained of his difficulty talking.

"I'm enjoying myself." Bobby replied but let go and picked up his own gun.

"Work the knee until it's strong again. Simple." John said with a frustrated sigh, "I'm myself again but I wasn't when I did that. Could someone please remember that."

"What about the other twelve years you've been hitting him?" Ellen asked, "You know John I don't want to hear it. You're persona non grata. Got it. If you ever show up here again, if I don't have enough people to beat the shit out of you I will shoot you my self. Bobby, Keith if you please."

"I just want to talk to my son, Ellen." John asked in all sincerity, "Then believe me I'm gone and God willing won't be back."

"Bruises and bleeding kind of say it all." Sam snapped, "Let's go."

Funny how nobody was letting him talk, Dean thought and said, "Dad we have to stay apart till we find who ever summoned the Lyssa."

"Agreed. No contact, but Dean I can't promise I won't look for you." John confessed, "I'm not sure why I came here. I knew when Ellen and Bobby called that you were in good hands and I came anyway. You know how to go to ground so do it. Bobby hide him till he can look after himself. Okay?"

"You think you need to ask.." Bobby growled.

Ellen and Sam helped Dean up on his feet and gave him his cane allowing him to see his father's face. There was a deep profound melancholy in his features that pulled at Dean's heart and deepened his guilt

"Dean I know you think I've been hard on you, harder than I was on Sam and you're right, but there's something you don't understand. There was so much on your shoulders, I needed you to be able to stand on your own and protect both of you. Sam is like me. He's hard headed, driven, stubborn, he's tough as nails. And maybe a little self centered."

"No maybe and not just a little." Dean spoke up grinning at Sam. "Yah he's like you, egotistical and selfish but there's a hell of a lot of good in him too and in you."

John smiled a little, this kid's not as dumb as he pretends, "You're like your mother. You even look like her, her eyes, especially her eyes, it's like she's looking out at me through your eyes. She was steady and sure, never wavering. She knew what had to be done and did it. So reliable and responsible I never had to worry about anything. Most of all your mother was a bottomless well of love and understanding and forgiveness too. You're her Dean."

"Okay, how is that a problem?" Dean asked.

Dean didn't want to ask such questions in font of others but when would he have a chance like this again. He had often though after his father was dead, if only I had the guts. Well now he was alive and talking.

"Stays the course, responsible, reliable, never wavers, sounds good. So what's the catch?" Dean asked, "What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong Dean" John's stomach twisted, he never wanted Dean to think that way, "I was harder on you because you're mother was gentle, a nurturing person. She didn't have a killers instinct and you were like that too. Nurturing, always looking after me and Sammy. I was afraid if I wasn't on you all the time, you wouldn't develop the edge you need to survive in this world. You can't let your guard down. You turned your head away once, remember Dean. It almost cost Sammy his life. So I was on you for every little thing never let up to make sure you survived. Not because there was anything wrong. I loved your mother passionately. Being like her isn't a fault. But being gentle can be life threatening." he stopped when he realized Dean was quietly laughing his expression one of antipathy .

When he looked his father in the eye a hole formed in his belly. Dean wanted to go back to the days when his dad was a hero who could make everything right if he screwed up. A part of him still felt that way but in looking back with a mature eye he saw things that he hadn't before. John had said it himself, he had put to much on his shoulders and finely Dean agreed with him. He had carried the burden of guilt over his inadequacies most his life but now realized he shouldn't have been so burdened in the first place. No child should have been. If he wasn't able to handle himself like an adult it was simply that he wasn't. No fault lay on him.

"Is this about the Schtriga? I was a nine year old going stir crazy from being locked up in a little motel room for days looking after a five year old. What was you're excuse for leaving two children alone that long at all, much less in a town where a Schtriga was hunting children?" Dean demanded, "I could never make it up to you and God knows I tried. But what the hell was I doing with that responsibility in the first place? You shouldn't have left us there like an invitation to that Schtriga in the first place then blame me for the damned thing getting to Sam." A thought suddenly came to him that he didn't like and in a calmer state would have dismissed but not at that moment, not with his father rubbing this one bad moment in his face, "Or was that the point? There we were a succulent appetizer and a tasty entrée. You did show up at just the right moment. How often does that happen?"

The look of horror that came over John's face was tragic. But what was so horrifying to John, Dean accusing him of using his own sons for bait or being found out? Was the glimmer of guilt a result of a father's neglect or a hunter's shame. Suddenly Dean didn't want to know. Either way it was a moot point. His father knew he'd done something wrong vindicating him in his own mind and that was enough.

The voices started screaming the moment Dean contradicted him and escalated with each fresh attack. The insults the accusations, the insinuations, how dare he!

"You're right though. I am my mother's son." Dean quickly changed the subject, "Mom was a hunter raised by a hunter and so am I."

"You son of a bitch! Don't lie about your mother!" John roared diving at Dean, refusing to tolerate any besmirchment of his wife especially by this son.

Ellen kept Dean from landing on the floor again and both Sam and Keith brought their pistols down on Johns head as Bobby grabbed John's jacket to keep him from Dean. John was lucky that he was practically on top of Dean because his close proximity was the only reason Keith didn't fire.

On his knees ill from his spinning head John groaned, "Don't you dare disrespect your mother you spineless, pathetic, little bastard!"

"What disrespect?" Dean demanded stunned, this wasn't the reaction he expected.

"Will someone get this shit out of my saloon?" Ellen complained.

"How about right now?" Bobby asked.

"Damned good."

As Bobby hauled John to his feet Dean demanded, "What's so wrong. Mom was raised a hunter, her father was a hunter. What's your problem with hunters?"

"Your mother was a sweet, kind, gentle woman. She didn't hunt or kill anything." John hissed back as Bobby tried to drag him to the door.

"Do your research!" Dean barked after him, "Deana and Samuel Campbell, 1973. The last victims in a series of strange deaths in Lawrence"

"I'll break you in half for lying about your mother." John roared over his shoulder.

"Bite me!" Dean roared back.

Bobby literally kicked John's ass out the door. He was followed closely by Keith. Dean stared at the door trying to figure out why that went so badly. Had he phrased it wrong? Probably. Heart to heart, sincerity, just wasn't his thing.

"Can you tell me what's so terrible about my mom being a hunter?" Dean asked anyone willing to answer.

"Can't think of one damned thing." Ellen assured him.

Ellen and Sam walked a wobbly Dean to his room and coxed some painkillers into him while dressing his newest wounds. Dean only stared at the ceiling and occasionally muttered that he thought it would go over better. John's extreme violence maybe the product of a demon curse but Ellen could see the destructive affect on Dean's spirit was long term and excessive. She sat on the edge of the bed and wished John would come back so she could shoot him. She knew he would but also knew Dean couldn't be here. The heroic and dashing Dean Winchester was a very wounded boy inside as well as out and Ellen needed to protect him from further harm.

"You going to stay with him tonight?" She asked Sam who was already settling in to the big chair.

"Definitely. It's my turn to look after him." Sam said a little smile playing at his lips but a determined set to his eyes.

Ellen wasn't going to try to interfere with that and left to warn Bobby the post at Dean's bed was already taken and he would have to put a chair by the door. Bobby and Keith were a while coming back and though both men said John had himself under control when he headed south they also set up home made alarms at all doors and windows to make sure he didn't come back.

* * *

Dean didn't want to open his eye. He could hear hustle and bustle around him, and remembered where he was. The roadhouse where dad showed up to give public view to their family strife and leave him to shoulder the after math in all it's humiliating glory. Sometimes it just sucked to be him. Fingers gently stroked the side of his head. They suddenly stopped and a voice spoke he thanked God to be able to hear.

"I think He's coming round." Bobby announce to some one. "Hey big D you alive in there?"

"Get back to you on that." Dean rasped thinking I sound awful, he looked around and found the big beloved old bear. "Oh God take me now. I have a horrible nightmare then I open my eyes to this."

"Well you ain't exactly a joy to be near these days." Bobby shot back without skipping a beat. "I'm trying to think up some reason why you would even think of driving four hundred miles beat to hell?"

"I tried to call but you're line was busy." Dean offered lamely.

"You were the other side of half dead by the time you got here, you idjit." Bobby started to grumble.

"Come on Bobby cut me some slack." Dean groused choking, "What was I supposed to do, go to a homeless shelter?"

"You could have tried ringing me more than once." Bobby growled, "I swear boy, you ever try that again I'll kick your ass till your nose bleeds."

"Got yah." Dean replied amused but a little startled too, as he hadn't thought they were that close at this time.

"Good, I'm checking out some breakfast. Send something in for you?" he asked Sam.

"That would be great." Sam thanked him.

"I'll find out what Ellen has lined up for the boy who can't chew."

"I can too." Dean snapped but Bobby didn't wait to hear it.

"Great, more cream of wheat." Dean grumbled.

"I didn't think you liked cream of wheat. You barely tolerate oatmeal." Sam remarked.

"I hate cream of wheat but it's all they would serve me in the hospital." Dean groaned, "Yogurt, eggnog, puréed fruit and cream of wheat. Not even oatmeal. Man I'm loosing weight."

"But why? You don't have a broken jaw." Sam asked.

Dean pointed to the right side of his face, "Broken bones. I put any pressure on the upper jaw and there's a little pain but mostly the healing can get screwed up. I could end up with a lumpy face or a screwed up eye socket. I'm on creamed everything for a while."

"That sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"You should have told me about it." Sam jumped at the opening.

"Didn't we have this conversation already?" Dean asked, noting Sam's bitch face.

"No I mean about dad, that he did this to you."

Dean sighed deeply, wondering that the usually perceptive Sam couldn't see the obvious but then he was always a little blind where their father was concerned. Sam did open the door for Dean to do a little bitch of his own. Most of the time the simmering juices in his stomach frustrated and agitated and always justified, but sometimes he just felt bitchy.

"It wasn't his fault but now people are blaming him and that's not fair. Why did you have to tell them dad hit me?" Dean gripped, "These are people who's respect I want but now they think I'm some pathetic battered child and dad beats children."

"I'm sorry Dean it kinda slipped out." Sam was genuinely regretful, "But when I heard him making excuses, he even said how the Lyssa wanted to kill you, but he was to tough. It,... I just couldn't take it. He had no right to play it down. He damn near kills you and he'd still talking big. The great hunter. Nothing can touch him. It made me sick. I had to hit him somehow, make him feel it. I don't know, am I making any sense?"

"Yah, kind of but I got hit too." Dean sighed wishing he didn't understand so he could be mad at Sam, "Poor abused little Dean. I am so going to hate this."

"No they won't be like that." Sam insisted.

"Yah, they will, but hey, who wants to talk about that shit." Dean had enough bleeding hearts and flowers, "What's happening at school?"

Dean and Sam fell into easy conversation. Dean wanted to see Sam smile, hear him laugh unrestrained untainted by sorrow. Dean wanted to hear funny tales of college life or about how brilliant Sam's professors thought he was. Though it was only a few weeks since Dean saw him last, he wanted to hear it all. Dean pasted an interested expression on his face and let Sam talk. He didn't understand half of what his brother was talking about and didn't give a damn about grades, honour roles, or the deans list. What Dean thoroughly enjoyed was the excitement in his brother's face. The sparkle in his eyes would disappear never to return in less than two years and the thought made Dean's heart ache. They began to run out of conversation and Sam's face grew his 'I want to know everything expression', but Dean was saved by Jo, Bobby and breakfast. Which tray was Dean's was painfully obvious.

"I can eat eggs. How much chewing do eggs take. Common." Dean pleaded.

"You got an appetite, that's a good sign but Ellen's got those instructions that were in your pocket and she's following them to the letter." Bobby said with a suspiciously amused grin.

"If you want a menu change talk to the cook." Jo grinned jabbing her thumb toward the door.

There Ellen was, leaning in and asked, "There a problem?"

"Give me the tray." Dean grumbled in defeat, he wasn't very hungry and it was oatmeal instead of cream of wheat.

Sam couldn't help it, he had to snicker. It wasn't that he wanted to see his brother on the receiving end of anything so much as it was funny to see indomitable Dean who could slay any dragon stopped in his tracks by a little blond woman. As they eat their breakfast, Dean's face scrunched with displeasure. Sam surmised, Dean wasn't as interested in food as he pretended and decided it was time to tackle that question whether Dean liked it or not. Subtle wasn't working, it rarely did when his big brother was being evasive, so there was only one other route to go. Sam took some time to enjoy his meal before broaching the delicate subject with Dean.

"Dean, what are you going to do, now?" Sam hit him with it before Dean could duck.

"What besides heal?" Dean answered hiding his dread, "Hunt the bitch who cursed dad and whatever else I come across."

After a short silence Sam asked, "Alone?"

"Won't be the first time, Sammy."

"But you don't like being alone." Sam hedged thinking he was taking the wrong approach but didn't know what to do, "You're all about family, lets all stick together and we can work this out. That's you. You don't do alone."

"Right now the family can't be together Sammy so I'm going on alone and I can do that very well, thank you." Dean hoped he put a stop to it, "I've had some practice and it isn't that hard. In fact I kind of like alone sometimes."

"I think I'll go look out the window. Check out the flying pigs." Sam snarked.

"Bite me." Dean snapped back, tossed a couple of pillows to the foot of the bed and declared he was tired.

Sam tried to protest but Dean was pissed. It would be one thing for Sam to be surprised but to dismiss the statement out of hand is quite another. Dean already knew what Sam thought of him. Deep down inside his little brother thought he was pathetic. Sam's rage had been inflamed by Dr. Ellicott the chief of the Roosevelt Asylum but the mad doctor of Rockford didn't create the sentiments. They were pure Sam. So were the ones the siren's spell brought out. As long as everything was going well with Sam that nasty bit of insight sat in the dark where he could ignore it but during every confrontation with his little brother it nagged and caused his temper to flare. Better to end the conversation now before it got ugly. Dean wanted to sulk over the fact that Sam had a legitimate reason for disbelief. In another life Sam wasn't entirely wrong. Oh true, he wasn't entirely right but he wasn't wholly wrong either. There's something sad about a man who can't stand alone because he feels worthless if he's not looking after someone. Dean put an end to the train of thought.

"Dean don't do this." Sam begged. "We were just talking."

"We talked for a long time and now I'm tired." Dean returned having tossed enough pillows away to lie down.

"Damn it Dean what's wrong with you?" Sam complained his voice beginning to raise. "I can't disagree with you without you throwing a fit."

"When pigs fly isn't disagreeing it's calling me a liar." Dean called him on it, "I just don't need your attitude right now so let me sleep."

"No." Sam wouldn't be budged, "Maybe I was rude but you're overreacting and I'm not going to be made into the bad guy this time."

"I'm not making you anything." Dean snapped back, that temper he didn't want to loose flaring. Deep down somewhere Dean knew he was being unreasonable but the pain was creeping up his leg and into his back and the damned headache never leaves and he just couldn't keep the smile pasted on his face anymore "Either you are or you aren't. You decide, leave me out of the conversation."

"Since the last visit the whole dynamic has changed between us and frankly it sucks. I can't say one word that sounds like disapproval with out you down my throat. I can't disagree with you, with your life style, with hunting, with dad with anything. More than a sentence or two and you're all over me." Sam snarled back, "I'm tempted to just walk out of here. Give me one good reason to stay."

"Hell, you weren't invited." Dean barked back and regretted it the minute it was out of his mouth but he was too angry to say so.

The crushed look on Sam's face was a first class kick in Deans gut and he wanted to apologize immediately but he couldn't force the words out. He was tired of apologizing for anything and everything that ever made Sam unhappy. Was he going to apologize in the face of Sam threatening to leave as if that didn't hurt? No damned way.

"Well I guess that says it all." Sam choked coming to his feet. "I'll try to get a flight back to San Francisco in the morning."

"Give you a reason to stay sure as hell says it all." Dean's raging head ache snarled at Sam, "If being my brother isn't all the reason you need to stay than you shouldn't be here."

Sam had taken several steps away from the chair but now he paused and stared at his big brother as all the steam escaped like a kettle being lifted from the stove. The shooting bloom shrunk and died as the heat faded away. He'd forgotten why he came. Dean had been hurt and he hadn't taken his brother seriously. He'd been making that mistake a lot lately. He had to stop doing that. It wasn't easy, Dean could be so aggravating. He was loud and animated and impossible to ignore. It never bothered him before so why did it now. Why wasn't he taking Dean seriously anymore.

Sam turned to face Dean, "You're absolutely right. Being here for my brother is all the reason I need. It's the reason I came."

Sam found Bobby waiting for him outside the door. There was a big frown on Bobby's face. Was he about to be lectured on how he shouldn't upset the patient?

"He's going to be like that some times." Bobby said, "Just let it ride and get out of the room. Make sure he takes his meds first. He won't want to take them because they'll make him dopey but he has to. It's the pain."

"I'm not sure what you're saying." Sam admitted, "The meds are making him irritable?"

"No the pain makes him irritable you idjit. He has bolts and spikes attached to the bones in his leg and staples and plastic in his face." Bobby went in to a little detail, "People suffering that kind of pain snap at everybody sometimes. You know how he hates painkillers but you gotta go in there and shove them down his throat. We'll all take turns doing that."

Bobby must have seen the look of distress on Sam's face because he patted him on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, "It's alright son. You know what a tough bastard your brother is." Bobby gave him a grin and a wink, "You can't keep him in bed long unless there's a girl in it. He'll be up screaming for a hunt , a poker game or a pretty girl to chase outa shear boredom soon enough."

Sam nodded with a big grin. Yep that was the Dean he knew and loved.

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**Chapter 12 reproofed. What do you think? Please review.**


	13. Chapter 13 The Odd Couple

**I don't own Sam, Dean or Supernatural. So sad, sigh.**

**Another reproofed but little touched. If you think it needs improvement let me know.  
**

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**CHAPTER 13**

**THE ODD COUPLE**

Within hours of waking up Dean was demanding to go to the bathroom and shower on his own. It took a growling Bobby and threatening Ellen to keep him in bed for even one day. After that it was escorted trips to the bathroom which everyone insisted on until Dean could navigate the full length of the hall without stopping and hugging the wall. The spikes of searing pain shooting through his left leg every time he tried to put any pressure on it was hard to mask and he was getting caught in the act. Sam escorted Dean to and from his shower and just to make sure he had everything he needed, waited a couple of minutes after Dean was settled in on the little stool that was kept in the bathroom for him. Sam always showed up a minimum of five minutes before Dean was finished. It was spooky how he always knew. Maybe having Dean cornered was the appeal.

"Have everything?" Sam asked.

"All I need's a towel to dry off." Dean answered from behind the shower curtain.

"Has dad tried to contact you?" Sam asked as he handed Dean a towel.

"Sam my cell phone hasn't rung once."

"Doesn't that worry you or are you just relieved?"

"A little worried." Dean admitted, "It's like waiting for a viper to strike without knowing where it's hiding while being strapped to a wheel chair."

"You know I can kind of sympathise, bro." Sam grinned, "Do you have leads?"

"Yah actually."

Dean had hours of staring at the ceiling thinking over his every action, all the things he'd done to change the course of events and after a ridiculously (in his opinion) long time remembered one of the most significant tip offs he gave old yellow eyes. In nineteen seventy three he told Azazel himself that he would be the one to kill him. With Brady spying on Sam all it would take was, one word, any change in Sam's behaviour, to trigger action from the master manipulator. If he even bothered to wait for a sign.

Upon finding Castiel in Jimmy, Dean suspected that though the timing may be different, the players are not and therefore their actions would remain the same. With Azazel and Alastair planning to use John as the righteous man there would be no need to keep Dean alive. Perhaps his death would be the solution to the problem, no righteous man, no Michael meat suit, no apocalypse. No, it could not be that easy. Adam was still out there. They could manipulate any righteous man into a deal and still have a Winchester to be the Michael sword and it would go on without him to help Sam. The world would burn and Sam could spend eternity as Lucifer's puppet. So much for that plan.

Dean did a search on Meg Masters and found she went missing in March, before Brady's exorcism. Dean had a starting point. He could begin his search in Beaverton, a babe like Meg would be memorable in the little podock town. There was one obvious place Meg might go after screwing with John and Dean. After making himself, comfortable at a table in the bar while waiting for their lunch (Poached fish or well cooked mac and cheese? At least Ellen was giving him choices.) Dean had Sam pull up his Lyssa file.

"Have a close look at the talisman, memorise it." Dean advised Sam, "If you see anyone, and I do mean anyone wearing, something like that or see it in their dorm room or anything go directly to the nearest phone, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Call me. Pay close attention to a girl about five and a half feet tall, sexy, brown eyes, short blond hair. She could be passing herself off as a college girl, may even start taking courses or something to start cozying up to you. Be damned careful and call. Okay?"

"Blond with brown eyes?"

"Sexy, leather jacket, very low rise jeans and lots of attitude. Probably going by the name of Meg Masters."

"How did you come up with that?" Sam was amazed.

"Lots of research." Dean answered but when Sam responded with his bitch face Dean added, "Comparing descriptions of a stranger wanted for questioning in the deaths of a number of people in Beaver, Utah with the FBI missing persons database. Meg Masters from Andover Massachusetts disappeared a couple of months before we hit Beaver and just before the dead bodies started turning up." Well it was partially true.

"So you think this Meg is possessed and went to Beaver to set up dad? Isn't that a little thin?"

"Sam it has more substance than some of the other stuff we've followed up on."

"But why do you think it was a big plot to get you and dad?" Sam asked, "Couldn't the killings have attracted any hunter to the area?"

"Could have, maybe it did." Dean speculated, "Two of the bodies were unidentified. Another hunter team maybe or two separate hunters that went to investigate. Meg took them out and waited for us to show up."

"Why do you think it did this and why now?" Sam asked, "Why not just kill you?"

"Aren't you just full of questions." Dean sighed.

"I'm trying to understand what's going on, Dean?" Sam complained.

"Me too and when I have some answers that make sense I'll pass them along to you."

They paused in their discussion when Ellen arrived with their lunch and Dean took this opportunity to change the subject. He had plenty of answers just none that would make any sense to his little brother or anyone else for that matter. His answers would either get him committed or hunted depending on the hunter he gave them to and whether or not he was believed. With some effort Dean successfully changed the subject to lighter conversation. It began with what is that jar by the cash? His pride reeked havoc with his anger management efforts but he succeeded in being polite when insisting the jar be put away or a new name placed on it. After he assured Ellen he was financially solvent and fully intended to pay for his bed and board as well as reimbursing her for the doctor she put the jar away and left him to enjoy his all to well cooked macaroni and cheese. Dean then retired to his room to show Sam something he believed would put a light in his brother's eyes. Sam did love books.

Dean settled into his bed, irritatingly exhausted by the effort of showering and going to the bar for lunch but refused to surrender and take a 'nap'. Instead he asked Sam to hand him the three books hidden under his cloths in his duffel bag. Sam's eyes doubled in size.

"Where did you get these?" Sam marvelled.

"Different places. The grimoire I got from the job in New Orleans. Where the voodoo priest got it I don't know. I'm not sure but I think it predates the Key Of Solomon." Dean told him what was safe.

"New Orleans, the voodoo priest, that was you?" Bobby called from the doorway.

"Yah, that blood bath was me." Dean admitted with some reluctance.

"Well at least you came out alive which is more than can be said for Todd Beckman." Bobby said with a sad shake of his head, "You're the fifth hunter to go looking for that priest in the past two years. Dan Holloway spent five months trying to find the son of a bitch and lost a hand doing it. How did you manage it?"

"Got lucky I guess." Dean answered after a brief contemplative pause.

"Lucky? That's it, lucky?" Bobby stammered.

"When Napoleon considered an officer for promotion to General he didn't ask how good is he, he asked how lucky." Dean made use of a failed attempt to empress his father.

Dean left library books in motel rooms scattered across the country. Books on every military strategist and every battle fought throughout history (including a few that were regarded as myth). His reasoning was the knowledge could be used to fight evil and he hoped his military dad would appreciate his interest. It was a laborious endeavour that spanned years. Dean hoped John would finely recognise his intellect and be impressed with his having taken the initiative. When he told his father about his undertaking John's reaction was, he'd wasted his time, and that he should have been studying exorcism rituals. Dean tried to assured his father he'd never shirked his studies, that he'd done it all on his own time but John just walked away. Dean felt like a fool for having wasted so much effort on something completely useless. Still the knowledge didn't go completely to waste. He aced many a history test and had a multitude of interesting references he actually used from time to time.

"Napoleon promoted generals based on luck?" Bobby muttered, "No wonder he ended up wasting away on a tiny island in the channel."

"After almost conquering the world." Sam laughed.

"Almost matters collage boy." Bobby chuckled, "And you remember that Dean."

"Oh I don't rely on luck if I can avoid it." Dean assured him. "It's not something I see a lot of. How are you with vulgar Latin, Kione Greek, and Akkadian?" he asked holding up all three books for Bobby, "This is the Book Of Angels and Demons. I think you'll love it. This is a Codex for the Quradu. Have you ever heard of them?"

"Quradu, Quradu?" Bobby rolled the word around on his tongue, it sounded very familiar, "There's something, I'll look it up."

"It means warrior of God" Dean gave him a hint.

"Oh yah, I've stumbled across them, they're supposed to be a myth." Bobby reached for the codex, and looking at it asked, "Do you have any idea what's in this."

"I've spent years learning how to read these books." Dean bluffed, "That's Akkadian. It's using the proto-Sinaitic alphabet. It'll be the toughest for you to read. At least most people recognise a Greek letter when they see one. I don't think there's a lot of people that recognise Koine Greek though, so Angels And Demons may be a challenge too."

"You can actually read these?" Sam asked stymied.

"Yah." Dean answered keeping his cocky smile firmly in place.

This was the big moment. Would they believe him or not. If he couldn't convince them he learned to read these languages then only the truth was left. There were people who would not understand the difference between cursed, supernatural and divine. They would not only insist on destroying the rosary but some might want to destroy Dean as well. With Sam and Bobby it was a matter of trust. Bobby might accept Dean's word that the rosary wasn't evil but would do some research just to be sure. Sam's loyalty was obvious but his faith was painfully low and would ask to many questions of possibly the wrong people. It would have been so much easier if he could just say I got it from and Angel but believing in Angel's and accepting that the guy in the shabby trench coat beside the bed is an Angel is not the same thing.

"I admit it took years to learn to read all three, but I did."

"How?" Sam prodded.

"Someone taught me." Dean answered with a dah.

"Who?" Sam asked beginning to carefully flip through pages of the Codex.

"Are you five." Dean whined, "His name's Louis de Montfort. He knows just about any language you can think of."

"Damn I'd like to meet him." Sam sighed as he switched to the Book of Angels and Demons.

"I'm sure I can arrange that some day." Dean grinned, "What do you think, Bobby?"

"I think it's going to take time to translate this." Bobby answered as he carefully studied the Book Of Shadows, "Do you know when it was written?"

"Mid fourteenth century as far as I can tell." Dean mused as if he didn't know, "There's a couple of references to the recent outbreak of black plague."

"My God that IS older than the Key of Solomon." Sam exclaimed his eyes wide.

"Trust you to get that exited over a book." Dean laughed, "You're such a geek."

"Dean this is a very important book. All three of them are." Bobby stood up for Sam, "And you know that or you wouldn't have spent years learning how to read them. Funny John never mentioned them to me."

"I never told him I had them." Dean confessed lowering his eyes, "I kept them hidden in a secret compartment in the Impala."

"Why the hell would you do that." Bobby grumbled perplexed.

After a long silence Sam saved Dean by answering, "Because he would have taken them from you."

"He's not very good at sharing." Dean admitted.

Bobby could see how embarrassed Dean was and didn't press the matter. Conversation shifted to the books themselves but it didn't last long. Dean did his best to translate what they were interested in but as time passed he grew less patient and his eyes kept trying to shut. Neither Bobby nor Sam said anything when Dean started to snap at them. Instead they practically force fed him pain killers and left him to sleep.

Sam managed a whole week's visit to spend fussing over Dean by bringing his studies with him. When Dean complained he was missing to much school Sam arranged a couple of conference call study sessions. There was a mix of joy and dread in the news. Dean loved having Sam when he was marvelling over the books, talking about things they both enjoyed, watching a movie on the old TV Ellen brought into the room or were crossword puzzle racing (Dean could do the circle the word puzzles in record time while Sam had a talent with the insert the word down or across). Those were great times. But when Sam would start taking his temperature or checking his dressings or peaking under his eye patch Dean would start to grumble and think maybe now's the time to send him back to school.

Sam was beginning to realise there was a great deal he didn't know about his brother, or didn't understand, and he wanted to. The trick was getting Dean to talk. Dean could brag and banter with the best of them but reveal what was going on inside, not very likely. When Dean woke up from an afternoon nap Sam was patient. He kept the conversation neutral as he escorted Dean to the washroom and left him to his toilet in private. He waited untill Dean was back to his room was stretched out on the bed and feeling refreshed. Dean was comfortable and they were alone.

"Dean I know we've gone over this before but I don't understand." Sam began hesitantly.

"Understand what?" Dean asked trying to keep the dread from his voice.

"You hid books from him." Sam hedged not sure of what he was trying to say, "You were going behind his back to see me. You knew he was wrong about so many things but you still did whatever he wanted. You're so loyal to him even though he treats you like shit. I don't understand."

Dean wanted to tell him the truth, that was what would work, but he was only half aware of why he used to do some of the things he did. He hesitated and hedged wishing he could just say 'don't be such a bitch' and forget about it but the truth will save Sam kept running through his head. Maybe if he could make Sam see their dad the way he did, or at least understand what Dean saw.

"I remember when we used to play ball in the back yard, and he took me to my T ball games. I remember him reading me bedtime stories and when we'd go for long drives just the two of us and we'd sing to the tapes and the radio and make jokes. He could keep me laughing by the hour." Dean said then dared even more, "I used to wonder what I did that was so bad that he stopped wanting to be with me. What I did to make mom go away. You know, kids stuff. But I caught on to things eventually and when he started training me I started seeing him as this comic book type hero. Like a white knight saving the world and it explained his leaving and made a lot of things forgivable. Now I know he's just soldiering along trying to control what he can cause there's so much he can't and never letting up cause maybe slacking off is why mom died and he couldn't stand that happening to us. Try to walk a mile in his shoes Sam, it wasn't pretty. One day he's your average middle class Joe then suddenly the whole world goes dark and evil and deadly and he's got to figure it out while looking after two motherless kids and all after loosing his wife to this evil. There's a lot of rage and guilt and frustration there and he's didn't deal well but it could have been so much worse. If he didn't start hunting what would he have done with all that anger and frustration? Think about it Sam." Dean couldn't miss Sam's confused expression and once again thought 'I'm no good at this heart to heart shit, "Look I pretty much go on instinct so don't ask me to explain things okay."

"Yah sure. Wow I never thought of it that way." Sam sighed.

"Well you were to busy being angry over the life he never gave you and the one he was trying to push on you that you so didn't want." Dean let him off the hook.

"Wow Dean that was frighteningly insightful." Sam marvelled, "And uncharacteristically revealing."

"Don't give me ... Do I look like Oprah to you?" Dean made an unhappy face, "That was half guess work and a good dose of bullshit."

"You sounded pretty damned good." Sam said with a big grin, "Profound even."

"Shut up." Dean grumbled while Sam snickered.

It grated on Dean that by two o'clock he was exhausted but a couple of attempts to stay up resulted in falling asleep during a story or two by some hunters he'd rather not look weak in front of. So he took a 'nap' after having a shower and a leisurely lunch with Sam. Then he was up as soon as his eyes popped open for Sam time which often involved the books. Dean took advantage of every minute he could to be with Sam and his little brother didn't seem to mind in the least. All to soon for Dean, Sam was on his way even if he did mother hen a little, well, a lot. But Sam had exams to write and no one wanted him missing them. Dean hobbled out to Bobby's car to say goodbye. He wished Sam good luck on his exams and warned him again to watch his back but Sam still stood by the door waiting.

"Let me guess, you want a hug?" Dean groaned.

"Yah." Sam grinned every nuance of his face crying I know you hate this and I'm loving it.

"This is not a hug situation." Dean resisted.

"Yes it is." Sam insisted his eyes laughing.

"Yah okay." Dean surrendered, "But if anyone sees us I am so going to hate you."

"No you won't." Sam smiled happily in his big brother's bear hug.

Dean watched Sam leave with Bobby for the airport. When Sam got there he would find a little cash in his pocket to help pay for the ticket. Okay, the price of the round trip ticket and a little more but Sammy needed all his money for school. Dean felt a wave of optimism wash over him for the first time since he hit Palo Alto. Could he be doing something right at last. He hobbled back to the Roadhouse to find Ellen serving breakfast to a couple of other hunters.

"Looks good." Dean smiled looking at the plates of eggs, bacon, sausage, and home fries.

"Got some porridge." Ellen offered.

"Ellen it's been almost a month common." Dean pleaded.

"Give me a minute." She said ducking into the back for a minute then came back smiling, "I can give you scrambled eggs and fish."

Dean's whole face lit up as he smiled, "Great. I'll take it."

"Done, Jo get out those fillets from the fridge, Dean's having fish n' eggs."

"Gross." Dean heard Jo squeak, "I hate fish."

"Yah well lots of people love it, that's why we keep it here. Fish n' chips big lunch seller."

A tall glass of orange juice, three eggs and a huge filet of haddock. Dean couldn't remember enjoying a breakfast this much. Absence really does make the heart grow founder. School would be out soon and Jo would be a regular fixture at the roadhouse. Dean was glad he wouldn't be there for it. Jo's crush was difficult enough to deal with when she was in her twenties. As a teenager Dean was lost. Was Ellen a mind reader? She sat at Dean's table just as Jo made her way back to the bar after pouring him another cup of coffee. Maybe the sassy girl's sly looks over her shoulder were a little obvious.

"So what are you going to do about that?" Ellen asked.

"She's seen under this hasn't she?" Dean asked pointing to the patches on his face.

"Oh yah."

"Then I don't get it." Dean shook his head, "I'm a busted up wreck, and under this well I'm mangled. It's gross. I show my face women will run from the room. What does she want with me?"

"Do you know the stories we've heard about you? I like the nailed story. Love it every time Bobby tells it."

Dean started to chuckled, "I hauled my brother to the car with a nail in my back. It's a little stupid but hilarious?"

"You half carried your brother to the car and waited till Bobby fixed Sammy up then when he noticed blood dripping down the back of your pants you announced 'Oh yah I forgot to tell you, I got nailed.' Definitely one for the storybooks."

"Well it's kind of funny I guess." Dean admitted. "Yah it's pretty funny."

"Jo likes the chasing a werewolf around a tree story. What was it? Oh yah." Ellen thought for a minute. "You jumped on it's back stabbing it screaming 'Die you ugly, son of a bitch, die' over and over again till it dropped dead."

"It was trying to eat my brother." Dean said uncomfortably, "I couldn't risk shooting in case I hit Sammy so I had to jump the damned thing."

"The point is we've heard stories about you two for years, some pretty heroic stories. Jo has an image of you that this mess isn't going to kill. She's a hunters daughter, Dean. Scars don't scare her. You'll have to come up with something else but be kind. She's young and easily heartbroken."

"You tell me how do I do this without breaking her heart."

"You can't. I'm just saying, do it gently."

If future history taught Dean anything about Jo it was she had a mind of her own and would not be easily swayed. He would have to come up with a damned good reason for her to change her mind and it would have to be her choice. That wasn't going to be easy to accomplish without humiliating her. But there was another matter he needed to address with Ellen. What was the talk? People tended to clam up around them and Dean didn't like some of the looks he was getting.

"Word's getting around isn't it?" Dean asked after pointing out his observations.

"Afraid so." Ellen admitted.

"Could you tell people it's all a mistake. I can't because they don't talk to me just look at me weird." Dean asked, "Maybe tell them I got busted up by a gang of sore losers out side a pool hall."

"You're asking me to lie. I know hunters do it, it's in the job description." Ellen leaned in getting personal and caring. "God knows I want to do everything I can. Guilt goes a long way. But lying isn't something I do well, not to friends."

Dean felt a little ashamed for what he asked and was about to apologize when he clicked on something else, "Guilt, what do you have to be guilty about?"

Ellen came right to the point. "Your father lived way under the radar, no one could monitor him. We should have. The fact that he kept you away from us and that you only spent brief bits of time with Bobby and Jim should have been a warning sign to us. Then one child hostile and argumentative while the other was submissive and obedient should have sent off every alarm bell in the human body. We ignored it. The years of abuse you went through that we could have prevented. They're our fault. My fault and I'm sorry, not that that's enough."

"Will you stop that." Dean snapped, "You make me sound like some mangy beaten dog. I didn't grow up cowering in a corner eating scraps from the table, I was putting the food on the table, I was responsible for everything, including raising my brother. I'm not helpless or pathetic, so stop talking about me like I'm some tragic figure."

"I know that Dean, I'm sorry if it sounded like I was saying that." Ellen was quick to apologize.

"And he wasn't hiding us from you he just doesn't like people involved in personal family stuff and he doesn't like being dependent." Dean added, "Besides I handled things just fine." then struggled to get to his feet.

She reached to help and received a glare. Oops, that ridicules Winchester pride. In this boy it was worse than in his father. Or was he just plain pissed.

"Dean all I'm saying is as adults we should have been aware something was wrong and done something about it. We didn't, we were short sighted and you paid the price. That's wrong, that's utterly unacceptable. The innocent are everyone's responsibility to protect. In this case that was you. That's all I'm saying."

Dean looked at her, his expression guarded. It appeared like he was going to say something but then he just nodded and turned away. He went to his room and got out his books. He wasn't hiding from Jo and Ellen, he had serious work to do. Besides it wasn't pity, it was guilt and there's no reason to run away from that. Dean tried very hard to convince himself but in the end some of his good feelings about Sam were replaced with resentment for his big mouth. They would never respect him if they were feeling sorry for the beaten dog, and that's what it was. Dean had learned to live under a shadow of shame for twenty years. He wondered why he thought that would change.

Dean turned his attention to practical matters and the Quradu Codex for healing and mind development. According to the manual the mind could definitely aid the body in healing with deep sleep and energy focusing. It also had potions and poultices to offer to speed healing. Dean was ready to try anything to get out of the brace and the bed but he wasn't so desperate that he would be reckless. Dean lay down in his bed and used the Enchanted spell.

One minute Dean was staring at the ceiling chanting in Enochian the next he was sitting on a rock in the middle of a glade listening to crickets and watching birds soaring over head. On a far hill a walled city stood Dean had never seen before, not even in the movies. He took a few moments to orient himself, or tried to. But damn the brace was gone and it was a little freaky. When Castiel appeared beside him it explained everything.

"I'm dreaming right? Funny I don't recognize this place." Dean mused absently.

"There is no reason you should." Castiel told him, "This is Grease two thousand BCE. That city is Mycenae. You needed to speak to me?"

"Mycenae? As in Agamemnon, the battle for Troy and all that?"

"Yes, I find it very sad that ambition and vengeance could cause the down fall of an entire civilisation." Castiel said as he stared at the distant citadel.

"Ambition and vengeance, no Helen of Troy, I guess." Dean said not the least disappointed.

There were many better ways to get a kidnapped woman back than starting a ten year war. Hadn't those guys ever hear of covert operations?

"Helen knew Menelaus would not suffer an insult from Troy and Agamemnon would use her as an excuse to conquer Troy and gain a foothold in Persian territory." Castiel explained, "She ran away to Troy disguised as a servant revealing herself only after they arrived. She did so to avenge the death of her brother at the hands of Alexandrose."

"Alexandrose, that would be Paris in the Iliad"

"Yes, a season worrier with many wives and dozens of children, odd he is described as a boy in the poem." Castiel mused then turned to Dean and asked, "What do you wish to speak to me about?"

"It's about a book you put me on to. The Quradu. There's a section on healing, channelling energies and a cream to wash with. I need to know if they can hurt me in anyway before I try them."

"There is a cream and a salve." Castiel corrected and the book appeared in his hand as he sat on the rock beside Dean, "You can read this?"

"Yah you put me on to Ste. Louis De Montfort's rosary." Dean answered.

"Yes, of course. You're limited capacity for language would necessitate such a tool." Castiel agreed, "This cleansing cream or soup will speed the healing of wounds and can be used over you're entire body for an extended period of time without repercussions. It can be made in large quantities. For several millennia it was the only soap the Quradu had and used it as such but it would not be wise to use it on your head unless you wish to become bald. In time the hair will loosen and begin to fall out. It will not grow back."

"Good to know."

"The ointment was favoured by female Quradu. Scares fade quickly with it's use however it can only be used for twelve weeks. Further use in less than a year will cause tumours." Cass pointed to a notation. "A woman was too eager to rid herself of a large facial scare and here is a drawing of what happened to her.

"That's just gross." Dean said of a drawing of a woman with large growths on one side of her face.

"You may also make this tea to strengthen your immune system and stimulate rejuvenation." Castiel said flipping further into the book, "Drinking it every evening will aid in maintaining strength and youth but the greatest healing power you will find is energy channelling." Castiel flipped a few more pages, "It will take a great deal of mental discipline and practise to develop the skill. It will allow you to heal wounds in days or weeks that would be fatal to others."

"No shit!" Dean exclaimed grinning ear to ear, "How long will it take?"

"Take?" Castiel asked.

"To learn how to do this?"

"For some one year, for others ten." Castile burst Dean's bubble, "I would advise you begin studies now before the demons do you any more harm."

"Good advise." Dean nodded sighing, it wouldn't do him any good now but after dieing a couple of times Dean learned the value of defensive measures, "Any activity in heaven?"

"Your contact with me has generated some interest."

"What kind of interest?" Dean asked, concerned.

"I was asked if I new why you chose to summon me. I pointed out that as you were virtually blind when you created the circle it was a miracle that you were able to summon anyone." Castiel answered his head elevated with a measure of pride, "Zachariah deduced that, which of us was summoned, was purely chance."

"Nice work."

"I must give an account of any unusual activities." Castiel continued, "I will report that you are attempting to use the codex to heal yourself. I will probably be told to guide you to insure Michael's vessel is not harmed."

"They're going to tell you to do exactly what I'm asking you to do? Convenient." Dean grinned, "I'll take any couching I can get on this channelling stuff. Can you come in person?"

They made plans for visits to Singer Salvage for training sessions. Cass assured Dean he could visit most every day if required and Dean didn't turn it down. Seeing Cass was great but it wasn't the same. The connection wasn't there and Dean missed it. He hoped that spending a lot of time with the Angel, working toward something together would help rebuild the bond. He would have to be careful to keep Bobby from stumbling into Castiel but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. In the mean time there were other things to discuss, like creams and tea. Castiel described the best ways to make them, how to store them and what he'd seen of their uses at the Temple of the Quradu.

"There was a temple" Dean asked, "Oh I've got to hear about this."

Castiel would never be a great story teller. It required emotional input and as yet there was little to be found in the Angel yet Dean was riveted to Castiel's every word. He told of how Gabriel had created the first Quradu. Gabriel very carefully chose someone with the right genetic make up and disposition and spent years teaching his protégé in the fine art of fighting evil then told him to wait for students. Special people were sought out by the angels and guided to a modest compound which was built in the mountains in Macedonia near the borders of Greece and Albania, during the bronze age. As Castiel spoke the quiet glade turned into a compound of stone and wood huts surrounded by a stone wall. It was tucked into a small plain with a high cliff at its back and two hundred hectors of plains all around. The main gate was open giving Dean a view of a valley below the ridge the compound stood on. The valley extended long wide and clear. No one could approach this place without being seen hours before they reached the front gate. The building style was Greek using blocks ranging four or five feet high and between six and eight feet long building a wall four feet thick and reaching fifteen feet high. All the buildings inside were brick and wood with tile roofs but largely unadorned. Only one building stood out from the rest, longer, larger and with HONOUR THE CREATOR carved in the stone over the front door. A sun and moon were carved over the Sumerian writing. Castiel said it was added by the Quradu to represent God as the beginning and the end of all things.

In many respects it was like a military training camp. In the courtyard of the compound there was evidence of it scattered all round in target dummies, weapons and an obstacle course complete with gates to leap over and barriers to get around. Castiel explained how they were taught how to identify the various evils that existed from demons to angry spirits and everything in between. The Quradu were also instructed in a very simple faith. They were told a creation story very similar to the one found in the Bible. It was explained how man chose knowledge over innocents and has struggled with his choice ever since. They were told that the day would come when man and God would be united again. Evil was explained by telling of Lucifer's story but it was a quite different from the one he was told during his little visit to the future. Casstiel said the his big brother grew selfish and vain and tried to seize power in heaven then after loosing the war and being cast out he created demons out of corrupt souls. The Quradu wrote everything down in a great book. A Bible created under the guidance of an Archangel, Dean was fascinated. It was kept in the hall with the carving where they gathered each night to read a few passages and enjoy a meal in an air of festivity and celebration.

"Festivity and celebration?" Dean asked stunned, "Their Church was festive?"

"Religion was not meant to be frightening or depressing." Castiel replied, "The early Christian church also celebrated around a meal and was of a joyous nature. Some factions of different faiths including the Catholic church are trying to return to that approach to worship."

"You're kidding me." Dean had his doubts.

"Why would I do that?" Castiel asked.

"Forget it. Their Bible is one book I'd really like to read. I don't suppose it's kicking around anywhere?" Dean asked expecting a no.

"The Quradu grew in numbers. They became a force against evil." Castiel took up his story again, "They became known in heaven and on earth as the Jedi, but they were not an army. Though one Quradu was equal to a dozen men in combat a few hundred could not stand against ten thousand troupes. The small compound had grown into a great fortress which housed a few hundred at any given time."

The scene around Dean and Castiel changed, the compound growing in side. The buildings became two and three stories high and the wall grew at least ten feet. The target dummies were little changed, but the weapons matured with the addition of long bows and cross bows and iron broad swards. The obstacle course grew a few new hazards, the gates had been raised to ten feet and fifteen foot walls were added. The building materials altered little, but over the door of the dining/church hall the carved sun and moon were replaced by an iron sun and moon with a cross underneath with a dove in the center of the cross beam. Dean noted they didn't change their faith with the crucifixion of Jesus. They added to it. The buildings were still of stone and the style changed little. The most significant difference was the addition of parapets and a gate of thick timber and iron.

"Now this is a fortress." Dean hummed.

"The siege lasted months." Castiel sighed.

"Siege?"

"During the medieval inquisition the church insisted the Quradu accept their authority demanding a bishop be placed in control and the church would screen all applicants determining who would be trained. They also demanded the destruction of the Quradu's Bible stating it was heresy and the conversion of all the Quradu. Of course they refused saying they were the Jedi and answered only to God and his messengers. The church commanded several noble man to bring their troupes to take the fortress. The attack was lead by the Knights Templar. The Quradu who were taken prisoner were tortured for days in a futile effort to extract confessions of devil worship. They died horribly but not one confessed. Little remains of this sacred place."

The grand fortress faded away replaced by broken walls, and pieces of foundation. Dean was filled with a terrible sense of loss as he wandered about looking at the battered remains of the once great force against evil, broken, dead and forgotten. Oddly the temple/dining hall stood the iron symbol intact.

"I can't believe those sons of bitches left this standing." Dean remarked his gloom apparent in his voice.

"They didn't." Castiel returned, "Less than a hundred of the Quradu were not here during the battle. They returned and tried to rebuild but reports were sent to the church and another force returned. The Quradu were preparing to do battle when they were told to scatter. We don't know by whom. We also don't know who has rebuilt this temple three times in the past eight hundred years. Probably God."

"More likely Gabriel." Dean suggested, "He's a lot more sentimental that he likes to let on."

"Gabriel, he took part in our battles?" Castiel asked as he reviewed the memories he gleamed from Dean.

"At first he was a pain in the ass I wanted to gank, but he came around to our way of thinking." Dean explained, "Unfortunately Lucifer killed him."

"Gabriel was a powerful Angel. But only Michael is stronger than Lucifer. Gabriel should have remembered that." Castiel returned.

"Cass, sometimes it isn't a question of stronger but smarter." Dean paused to seek a way to explain a very human concept to an Angel who stared patiently waiting, "One of our greatest assets is we're always underestimated. Look at the stuff we've brought down, all of it more powerful than us. Hell I ganked Zachariah. Out smart and out manoeuvre. It's what we do."

"Let us hope we do a much better job of out smarting and out manoeuvring this time."

"Cass you're a real joy, you know that." Dean huffed sarcastically then began looking around for the source of a sound, "What was that. We're in my head there can't be someone else in here can there? We are so screwed if someone's been eavesdropping."

"Someone is in you're room attempting to wake you." Castiel explained then disappeared.

The fortress of the Quradu vanished just as quickly and Dean awoke with a start to find Bobby staring down at him.

"Sorry Dean but you told me to wake you when I got back. Hell I damned near didn't" Bobby apologised.

"No it's good." Dean reassured him as he struggled to sit up, pulling on the leg was as painful as putting weight on it, "There's some things I need to buy and I'll need your help. If you'll hand me the codex I'll make a list."

"Of what?" Bobby asked handing him the book.

"Ingredients for medicine." Dean answered and began his list, "It's like ancient herbal cures. This one is an immune booster." Dean pointed to squiggles and swirls on a page, "There's another that heals scares fast and one that you use like soap. It's great stuff."

"Like putting vitamin E on a cut?" Bobby asked.

"Actually vitamin E makes scares worse." Dean answered, "This stuff works."

Bobby looked over Dean's shoulder to get a peek at the list and growled, "Dean you're writing in Sumerian."

Dean did a double take of what he was doing then coughed, "Oh, sorry, specifically Akkadian possibly the first written Sumerian language."

"Just fix it, I can't read it." Bobby sniffed, "That's one Sumerian language I haven't learned over the years."

Dean tossed the paper aside and began again but shrugged, "It's okay, I'll come."

"Oh, you're not coming."

"I'm not."

"Dean this could take all day traveling to different herbal shops. You're not coming." Bobby insisted.

"The hell I'm not." Dean snapped back.

"Son, you're falling asleep every few hours, getting around will make the pain worse and you could end up hurting yourself forcing that leg of your's." Bobby tried reason, "I promise I'll take care of this and as soon as we get to my place we'll make this stuff. Which should be as soon as possible now that you're moving around. A little."

Bobby knew he won the argument when Dean sighed and picked up a third piece of papper to begin the list again.

"You're place, I could use the peace and quiet." Dean agreed looking forward to the old familiar stomping grounds, "You got a vat?"

"Vat?"

"Yah this soap stuff is going to take a vat to make."

Bobby and Dean locked eyes for a few moments. Bobby wasn't one for the exotic and he never would have thought Dean was but neither had ever been mutilated before. Bobby shrugged and got up saying he would ask Ellen if he could get one from her. Dean nodded yah that sounded like a plan. But it wasn't. It was good and well to have a vat but you also had to have a stove that could handle the heating capacity required. It wasn't as simple as turning the stove up to high. It looked like they were stuck at the roadhouse for a few more days. After Bobby did his shopping yet a few more days were added. Some of the ingredients were pretty exotic and if Bobby had to order it at his favourite shop in Sioux Falls you couldn't get it anywhere. He had to order three of the ingredients in the tea blend, four of the ingredients for the ointment and the two quarts of pure aloe. The liquid aloe he could pick up tomorrow but the rest would take two to three days with the help of overnight express delivery. The sabrrub oil, shalaki oil, neem oil, and aniseed would have to be imported, and corn poppy flowers and fennel were going to take a while. With Ellen's approval Bobby and Keith put new locks on all the doors and windows that would a least slow John down. That night Bobby added a trip wire in Dean's room that would set off a bell in his room.

Bobby was up bright and early the next day to pick up the aloe in Omaha and he and Dean were in the kitchen brewing up soap by noon. One of Ellen's great vats for preparing soups sat on one side of the stove with a few gallons of water oils and herbs bubbling away while in a more reasonably sized pot well washed moss simmered.

"This is the first step to make ointment that heals the skin." Dean indicated the smaller pot, "The big one I should use like a soap to heal old wounds." Dean explained what they were making to Ellen. "I need to mix them all on a stove saying prayers."

"To what." Bobby asked very pointedly.

"Bobby?"

"Pray to what?"

"I said prayers not incantations. There's no demon involved in this." Dean made it very clear, "The closest I can come to English is asking for the 'Father Maker' let's see '_Ikribu attu Abu Bonu sabbilu attu saturu annuri bunu ammar mapistu.'_For the record I have no idea what this is supposed to sound like. The closest trasnlation I can get is 'Blessings of the Father Maker bringer of the dawn of time and maker of all life.' There's no demon in this. Common I'm not stupid."

"No you're not." Bobby let himself grin though he was still nervous.

"There's one thing I don't get." Dean mussed.

"Just one?" Bobby teased.

"You're so funny. They refer to God as father. When this book was written most cultures who worshipped one god thought God was a woman."

"A woman, God is a woman?" Bobby asked startled.

"I could get behind that." Ellen agreed.

"No, ancient cultures who worshiped one God usually thought God was a woman, but personally I think God's neither so I guess that's fair."

"God's a neither?" Bobby stared in disbelief.

"I like God's a woman better." Ellen offered, "Dean are you sure you know what you're stirring up on my stove here."

"Oh yah."

"How much do you know about this guy de Montfort." Ellen pressed finding this all somewhat suspicious.

"Priest and missionary. Known for being able to make himself understood to anyone and converting people to Christianity. Liked building hospitals." Dean relayed what he learned about the Saint on the internet, "Really devoted to Mary. You know, the mother of Jesus."

"Heard of her." Bobby huffed thoughtfully, "You get the book from him?"

"No another guy Castiel put me onto them. Before you ask he's a bit innocent, very religious, and a hell of a soldier." Dean gave Bobby and Ellen a sketchy description of Castiel, "I've hunted with Cass. You should see him take out a demon. A thing of beauty. It's a little weird how naive he can be and wise at the same time but I like him and I trust him."

Bobby nodded his acceptance of Dean's judgment. It was scaring Dean how far the basic truth was getting him.

"It's herbal medicine, not an uncommon thing these day's." Dean continued to reassure him, "You know there are supernatural things out there that aren't evil, right? Did you know that?"

"You're kidding me right?" Bobby growled his cynicism.

"I'll tell you a story."

"Okay, right after I make a call to my idjit nephew."

Bobby had stayed the ten days at the roadhouse since he'd arrived and Dean wasn't surprised he was worried about his business. He was always worried about it. The nephew had a degree of competence high enough that Bobby always left him with the wrecking yard. Though no one ever complained of him everyone was always glad to see Bobby return. It was probably because of the big man's superior mechanical skills and his tendency to charge so little for them. Bobby's nephew received the moniker idjit not because of his abilities in the wrecking yard but his inability to hold an intelligent conversation. Getting more than a three word sentence out of him was at best difficult and if you weren't talking about baseball barroom brawls or babes he wasn't interested. Bobby had little use for him outside the yard however in one thing Bobby was very grateful to his nephew. The boy took a big piece of his pay check home to his mother. Bobby would give him that, the boy had a good heart. That worthless man she married ran out on her leaving her with four kids but the boy now twenty-one wasn't taking after is dad in this respect.

Dean's first appointment with Dr. Barstow "Yah like the city" at the clinic in Sioux Falls went well . The doctor, "who was not in the habit of asking questions or inclined to report gunshot wounds unless they were in children or frightened women" had X rays done of Dean's leg, face and arm and reported the face was healing well, no bones shifting, and the arm was in good shape. Dean liked him. He looked rough and his voice was course but his eyes were kind and intelligent, and there wasn't a hint of judgement in a single word or gesture.

It amazed the doctor that the leg was doing so well. "The doctor who did this new his stuff." he commented.

"Her stuff." Dean corrected.

"Having problems with blurring or any double vision?" the doctor asked.

Dean nodded hiding his reaction to the question behind a mask of indifference.

Dr. Barstow, who looked more like a roadhouse bouncer nodded noncommittally, "Your eye is wondering. The muscles are healed but they're limp, weak, they need to be trained to hold the eye properly. We have an ophthalmologist who will probably write you a prescription for a very special type of glasses that will do that."

"You can't be serious. On top of all this, glasses?" Dean griped.

"The alternative is more surgery but you'll have to wait at least six months before you can go under the knife again. You won't be able to drive till it's fixed." the doctor delivered the bad news with an amused grin.

"Fine." Dean grumbled.

"Good, she'll be here the day after tomorrow. I'll make an appointment for you."

"You can get him in that quick?" Bobby asked surprised.

"She's my sister in law." He grinned then added, "And make appointments after this. I don't want that (he pointed to the leg) sitting in my waiting room scaring people."

"Right." Dean grinned back letting him mask his kindness.

On the way back to Sutherland Bobby asked Dean if he wanted to scream or cry over the two or more months wait for the down grade. Dean just gave him the eye.

"I could do it for yah." Bobby offered.

Dean couldn't help but grin.

After picking up the last of the waited for ingredients in Sioux Falls and Omaha they returned to the roadhouse in time for a late dinner and bed. Dean was truly looking forward to a nights sleep. Though he slept part of the way back a day out was more exhausting then he'd expected. They waited until morning to deliver both the good and bad news to Ellen as she helped Dean set up to continue his holistic preparations on the stove. She was pleased and suggested that more rest would keep his progress improving. He gave her the eye and pointed out that he'd slept all night.

Dean found it easy to have a conversation with Bobby. He stayed casual and relaxed. He didn't become existed if Dean didn't agree or go on about how profound something was if it was a new idea. Most of all he didn't find it shocking if Dean had a profound thought or thought about things other than woman and hunting. Granted they were forefront on his mind but he did think of other things and wouldn't mind talking about them.

Bobby brought him a stool so he could sit at the stove mixing the ingredients and they talked about many things. 'Where did you get that antique' Bobby asked of a mortar and pestle Dean was using to grind some of the ingredients into a powder. Dean told him he picked it up at an antique shop in Palo Alto before meeting up with Dad in Glenwood and joked about it being a premonition.

Dean had done a little research on the markings on the bottom and around the bowl and discovered it belonged to a gifted young woman named Breanna who had been a healer in Massachusetts. She looked after everyone without prejudice, the young and old, the rich and poor and the sinners and saints. She did her job well, to well. Perhaps it was the lack of prejudice in who she treated or maybe it was that the people she cared for got well whether the religious leaders of the community thought they deserved to or not. Maybe if she had come over on the Mayflower. She was burned at the stake as a witch. Legend had it that Satan came to her cottage and took her Spell Book and other evil things so she could have them in hell. Dean's guess, those loyal and closest to her took them to protect them because they couldn't protect her. How they wound up in and pawn shop on the other side of the country, Dean couldn't say. Bobby looked at some of the markings on the mortar and bounced his eyebrows.

"Wicca protection symbols to ward off evil influences while making medicine." Dean explained the symbols, "We have the blessing of the goddess in all matters of birth and rejuvenation."

"Well bless her heart." Bobby grinned.

"Bobby I'm using a Wicca's tools to brew up stuff from a book that was written over two thousand years before Christ." Dean capsulized what they were doing, "I think we should keep this kinda quiet in this neighbourhood."

"You're wise beyond your years young padawan." Bobby grinned.

"Funny I always saw myself as more of a Han Solo and Sam as Skywalker." Dean went with it.

"Yah I can see that." Bobby agreed and light pleasant conversation continued.

Bobby held the manual, added, poured and fetched when needed, while Dean stirred the two pots and ground in more ingredients at the proper intervals. Ellen produced an unopened package of little travel utility bottles she bought for Jo to use when she went to visit different Colleges that summer. Dean accepted them gratefully. They were the perfect size for the ointment which was thickening to a cream. It would continue to thicken in a cold storage covered with cheese cloth for a day. Then it would be heated again and two more ingredients would be added. Ellen checked the vat. It was filled with the mixture that was made and strained the day before yesterday and now bubbled with the two quarts of pure allow. She asked how much it would produce. Dean shrugged saying the book didn't say. Ellen took measure of what she saw then hunted in a store room for preserving jars that had belonged to her grandmother. They were only one pint each but there was a lot of them. Without a moments hesitation Ellen sterilised them so they would be ready and waiting for Deans preparations.

"Has anyone told you how great you are?" Dean asked and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"Are you making a pass at my mother?" Jo called from the kitchen door, as she dropped her school books on the counter.

"Are you kidding, not a chance." Dean laughed, "I don't take rejection well. Besides I'm not good enough for her."

Amid the laughter Jo chirped, "Oh I'm sure your man enough for any woman."

Dean laughed but with a touch of melancholy, "It's not man enough so much as here enough. I can't be anything to any woman other than a pleasant memory cause I'm always moving on. I can't do relationships Jo or boyfriends, I have nothing to offer your mom or any woman. I guess that's what I meant by I'm not good enough."

"You couldn't pick a spot and come back to it after a hunt?" Jo asked, "A lot of hunters do that. My dad did, Bobby does."

"Yah, but I was raised on the road. Lived all my life out of a duffel bag. I wouldn't know what to do with a home."

Jo looked like she was going to argue but Ellen snapped 'you got chores' and she lit out like her feet were on fire. Dean's smile vanished and his head dropped. He looked completely disgusted with himself and Bobby shuffled from foot to foot awkward and embarrassed.

"Dean I have to say.." Ellen began slowly.

"Hay that was the best I could do." Dean interrupted feeling the need to defend himself, "It was the truth and the only way I could think of saying it without embarrassing her. I'm sorry there was an audience I really am but I saw an opportunity and I went for it. I figured the sooner the better. I'm sorry Ellen I'm really ….just … really sorry."

"Are you finished?" Ellen asked.

"I am so totally finished." Dean muttered dejectedly.

"You really saved face for her. Thanks I appreciate it." Ellen said giving him a kiss on the cheek and hurried off to comfort her daughter.

"I did good?" Dean asked no one then turned to Bobby smiled and announced, "I did good."

"Will wonders never cease." Bobby grinned.

"Bite me." Dean snapped narrowing his eyes.

* * *

**During my investigations I found two different ages for Jo. One she is the same age as Sam and two she is two years younger than Sam. I went with she was younger than Sam so she would be at home and in the story, not off at college.**

***Moss is a source of a form of penicillin and the other ingredients are natural remedies but to my knowledge have never been combined as I have described and do not make the remedies.**

****A city was discovered exactly where the Iliad claimed Troy stood ( Hisarlik, Turkey) and it does appear to be as described complete with the remarkable inclined walls, two towers at the gate and a weak wall on the west side (Which Apollo had not yet rebuilt). It also appears to have been destroyed buy an earthquake. Poseidon ally of the Greeks is the god of the earth, the sea and horses. If the city was destroyed by an earthquake (God of the earth) it could explain the story of the Trojan horse (God of horses). Also Persian clay tablets were found one of which is a letter to a King of a mighty city on the plains (of Ilium) thanking him for sending an army lead by his son Alexandros and describes his heroic exploits. In Homers Iliad Alexandros is another name for Paris and based on the descriptions in the tablet he was an battle scared old warrior. **

*****I embellished on one of the theories of what brought about the Trojan War specifically the Greek desire to gain a foothold in Persian territory. I hope no one's sense of the romantic was terribly offended.**


	14. Chapter 14 In Need Of Repairs

**Sam and Dean are not mine alas.**

***Yes I know Brady was a medical student but that sounded a little boring so I used a little creative licence and no one's complained so thank you.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 14**

**IN NEED OF REPAIRS**

Jessica listened with wide eyed sympathy as Sam filled her in on Dean's condition. He was delicate in explaining how Dean became so terribly hurt, saying only that his father was not a trustworthy partner any more and he was worried about how Dean was going to manage. And he was. It was one thing to stay in school when Dean was hunting with their dad, it was another when his big brother was alone. On the other hand the very thought of hunting again made Sam nauseous and Dean claimed to have matters under control

Sam shuffled the grilled chicken of his Mediterranean salad around on his plate as he voiced his concerns and wondered what he should do about it. Having these long lunches with Jessica once a week was a poor substitute for their daily get togethers but seeing her smile at him in that understanding way, 'she knew him so well is such a short time' made the pangs of loss bearable.

"Sam, what would you're brother say if you quit school to work with him?" she asked.

"Say?" Sam grinned, "He wouldn't say anything. He'd kick my ass all the way back here."

"So really what can you do about it?" Jessica drove her point home.

"Pray a lot." Sam sighed, "But I just wish…."

"There was something?" Jessica asked.

"Yah, it's so not fair." Sam sighed so deep and painfully he could see it reflected in her eyes, "He didn't deserve to get ripped apart like that after everything he did for that man."

"But your father didn't mean to slip up like that. I know no rational man drinks on any job much less one where lives are on the line but I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose."

"No, he didn't, but if he'd been thinking about someone besides himself it would never have come to this." Sam growled and viciously stabbed a piece of chicken and chomped on it, and Jessica giggled, "What?" he asked.

"If you're attacking that meat like it's your father then you're a cannibal." she answered.

Sam stopped in mid chew suddenly finding the grilled fowl foul indeed. He forced himself to swallow the piece of meat unable to keep the disgust from his face and tried to glare at her increased giggles but found himself laughing instead. He couldn't help himself. Jessica's laughter was contagious. This was better, no more depressing conversation. As they parted with a hug, all Sam would dare these days, he promised to call her after confirming Brady's arrival time. He would be flying in some time next week to register for classes. Brady's father was so pleased to have his son back he had no qualms about financing the next semester and if his grades rose to their pre-possessed stellar level Brady should have no trouble obtaining grants for the following semester.

Brady sounded good, like himself again. A couple of weeks at home had done him a world of good. He was optimistic talking about his future as he had when they first became friends and promising to introduce Sam to all the rich and famous he would one day be making richer.

"When you finely decide what you're going to do Sam, maybe some of them can be your clients." Brady suggested, "Have you settled on what direction you're going in?"

"I'm leaning towards criminal law." Sam answered, 'Dean will inevitably need a good criminal lawyer who'll believe in him'.

"There's always a need for a top notch criminal lawyer among the beautiful people, my friend." Brady laughed.

"If you believe the papers." Sam agreed.

"We should plan a few things for when I get there, go out and have a few. Bring that lady of yours."

"Yah about that." Sam hummed a little before saying, "Jessica and I aren't an item anymore. Actually we haven't been for a while. She's still a friend though and I'm sure she'd love to come out with us."

"Oh man I'm so sorry." Brady offered his condolences, "She pulled the 'but we can still be friends' on you and she's actually following through on it. That truly sucks."

"I think it's really great of her considering I'm the one that broke up."

"You jerk. How could you dump a great girl like Jessica?" Brady squeaked, "Are you out of your mind?"

"I couldn't handle it. I have some things going on in my family." Sam couldn't help sighing yet again, "Do you remember my brother, the one that basically saved your ass?"

"Blond, green eyes, disgustingly movie star good looking?" Brady asked.

"That's him. Well he's been hurt really bad, his leg could be permanently damaged and half his face is a mess of ugly scares. They're reasonably sure they saved his eye but it was still covered with a patch when I left him." Sam told all, "And my father who's pretty much responsible for all this is off the deep end. We don't even know where his is."

"Wow that's a full plate you have there." Brady said with great sympathy, "And me going on about how great my life is going to be."

"Oh hey man, it's all good." Sam hurried to reassure his friend, "Hearing about how well things are going for you is one of the good things in my life right now. Keep talking."

And he did for another half hour but every once in a while Brady slipped in a couple of questions about Dean and Jessica and by the time they said good bye Sam decided he'd do a little studying and go to bed early. He didn't want to call Dean while he was depressed. He didn't want to bring his brother down or worse. If the doctor's appointment didn't go well he'd have to be up to cheer Dean up.

Sam marked the day of Dean's visit to the doctor on his calendar the minute he hung up after speaking to Bobby. He'd tried twice to speak to Dean since coming back to Stanford but each time Dean was sleeping. He could never have imagined seeing Dean like that. Yes he'd seen his brother hurt, wounded, laid out on a bed bloody, pasty-faced, fevered, and so on and he'd been worried but something in the back of his mind never doubted Dean would make it back complete and whole. Dean would always make it back. With nothing but a broken silver tipped arrow in his hand Dean, wounded, stalks up to Gnomes barking 'Get your paws off my brother you bitch.' and attacks. Dean came out of such situations 'Needing repairs' as he called it. But always grinning, always with the jokes, 'Just let me rest a little I'll be fine Sammy, no problem.' and he was in a couple of days or a week. Not months, never racked by pain he couldn't control. There was no pain Dean Winchester couldn't control. His leg could be ripped from thy to knee with the bone exposed and he'd insist it was 'just a scratch'. Sam had seen him do it, wanting Caleb to stitch a slice on Sam's arm first. Constantly asking if he was okay only drew scowls from him. When Caleb saw what was really under the torn jeans he gave Dean a whack on the head, for which Sam was grateful.

It finely happened that Dean may not be fine. As terrible as being crippled would be for Dean there was a tiny selfish corner of Sam's heart that hoped he would be. Dean wouldn't be able to hunt anymore and Sam wouldn't have to go grey worrying about his big brother out there alone. Sam wondered if under these new circumstances Dean might consider that two bedroom apartment in San Diego. They were just too old to share a room anymore. Or just one for Dean, if Sam could get back together with Jessica. Yah, right, that'll be two bedrooms rooms hold the dreams. Sam checked his watch and made a calculation for lunch time in Nebraska. Dean was insisting on lunch in the bar before Sam left. It was his best chance of getting Dean. But just to be sure everything was alright.

* * *

Sorting all the packages from the various stores had been an annoying chore. Sitting down and trying to right out a recipe in English was impossible. Dean kept switching back and forth between English and Akkadian and the measurements themselves would not translate. They were idea's in his head, he'd know what was right when he did it but putting it into words was not working. In the end Dean closed the book and decided to concentrate on his lunch. Mashed potatoes with gravy, mashed turnip and carrots which Ellen called swede and really well ground beef with onions and gravy. It was one of the nicest meals he'd had in a while. Even better than over cooked macaroni and cheese. Meat!

Bobby was ready to be annoyed when he answered his cell. It was chicken in a basket day at the roadhouse. Ellen's chips were fresh cut and her chicken was deep fried not that shake and bake imitation stuff. He had just sat down when the phone rang. He was surprised to see Sam's name on the screen.

"Yah, can I help you, son?" He asked.

"Hey Bobby I wanted to talk to you before calling Dean." Sam explained his call, "In case the news from the doctor wasn't so hot so you could prepare me. I don't want to upset him, make it worse. You know. So what is the verdict? Should I avoid 'How are you?' Is he awake or should I call back later?" Sam ran the list.

Bobby grinned, "It's fine ask him yourself." he answered, handed the phone to Dean and dug into one of his favourite lunches. Only Wednesday and Sunday didn't have a favourite lunch on the menu.

Dean struggled to swallow and talk at the same time upon hearing Sam's 'Hey Dean.' "Sammy, dude, what's the occasion?"

"Are you ever going to stop calling me Sammy?'' Sam griped good-naturedly

"Maybe in a few years I'll break the habit." Dean chuckled, "What can I do for you, little brother?"

"You can tell me what the doctor said, good news, right?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean gave Sam a quick overview of how well he was doing saying only that the eye would need a little work. Trying to tell him everything was grand would have resulted in prodding questions and Dean didn't want the third degree. Of course Sam insisted on details about the eye and after trying to duck and put him off Dean finely admitted he would be picking up glasses in a few days.

"Oh this I've got to see." Sam laughed like a typical little brother, "I'm flying out just to see you in glasses."

"Don't hurry I'm stuck with them for a few months." Dean growled but was happy to hear his brother laughing even if it was at his expense. Well maybe a little happy.

"I'm glad your friend is doing alright." Dean said as the conversation wound down, "I got to admit that 'you were on drugs' thing was a shot in the dark. I didn't have the slightest idea it would work. But I wonder if the truth would have been a better idea. At least then he would be able to protect himself."

"But he's happy now Dean." Sam argued, "How happy would he have been if he knew all those things that he did were real?"

"I don't know how blissful ignorance is. He got possessed before so it isn't safe, is it?" Dean countered, "But if he's buying he was drugged out of his head he won't buy the truth now."

"No, he won't." Sam agreed and took a moment to wonder if there was some truth in Dean's musings.

"You watch your back little brother."

"You too Dean."

_'Ignorance may be bliss but it isn't safe. You know what's out there, you can protect yourself but they can't.'_ Sam decided to surf the wed and see just how safe it was around Stanford.

* * *

Bobby didn't know two young men could talk like a couple of gabby teenage girls or he never would have let them do it on his cell phone. Ellen laughed pointing out half an hour was nothing, barely a quick chat by teen girl standards. Anything under two hours didn't rate as a real conversation. Dean handed back the phone with a thank you. He became aware of the eyes staring at him and slowly looked up.

"What?" He asked oblivious.

They shook there heads, shrugged and went about their business. Dean had business to take care of too but he was tired and irritable. It was the fault of those damned painkillers everyone kept force feeding him. A three hour nap in the afternoon was just ridiculous but falling asleep in a vat of herbal medical cream didn't sound appetizing. Ellen's threatening glare helped convince him not lying down could be hazardous to his health. By the time he rose the required sitting time for the ointment had elapsed. After draining the excess fluid off, the ointment was ready to be poured into the little travel bottles and sealed with shrink rap. Each bottle he estimated would be one twelve week application and he had six. Hopefully he wouldn't need it all but it was handy to have.

Dean looked at all the jars of healing soap and wondered what he would do with it all. It looked like a years supply. "What were they thinking making a recipe for this much stuff?"

"Probably to use as soap." Bobby suggested, "It wasn't being produced in factories in one thousand BCE."

"Closer to two thousand BCE." Dean corrected.

"Yah whatever. The point I …"

"I know. I'm just." Dean paused and took a good look at Bobby.

Bobby snarled over being interrupted and waited for his glare to silence Dean. It wasn't much of a wait.

"Those bigger scares on your chest and arms can pull and even get painful." Bobby said tapping Dean's chest lightly, "Get rid of them as much as you can before they start to be a constant uncomfortable reminder."

It was a light coloured cream that looked like liquid soap and did in fact lather a little in the shower. Dean knew what Bobby was talking about. Claw marks that ran down his thigh pulled, sometimes painfully, every time he ran. The torn arm a werewolf gave him eight years ago was a constant reminder of how close Sam came to being puppy chow. Dean gently massaged the heavy cream over his chest, arms and leg before giving the rest of himself a washing. He stopped just below the chin remembering the warning, it could cause hair loss. His toilet finish Dean draped a towel over his head slightly covering his face to walk to his room.

Though he changed the patches himself of late he had managed to avoid looking in a mirror until after the application to insure he'd covered everything and he always had. He just didn't want to know. Hesitantly he pulled the towel away and forced himself to behold what he would in the mirror. And it was as bad as he feared. There was a network of jagged scares reaching from his earlobe across his cheek to his eye and a couple reaching down toward the jaw but most were concentrated around the eye and cheekbone. Most were tequila bottle handy work but some were surgical. Or was it that some from the tequila bottle was surgically altered. All looked red and angry. Everything was healing. After only a month there was improvement in his face but it was the lack of discoloration not diminished scares. They were like red worms squirming all over his face. 'How am I supposed to sweet talk information out of woman like this?' With trembling hands Dean started to apply the new ointment to the side of his face but watery eyes forced him to stop.

Dean gave himself a dressing down for being such a wuss and forced himself to the mirror again but when he tried again to put on the lotion his hand shook so badly he couldn't manage. "Stop it you bitch!" Dean cursed himself aloud but a big rough hand stepped in taking the bottle and told him to stop being so hard on himself. With a surprisingly gentle hand Bobby applied the ointment and made a simple point.

"You know Dean you should cut yourself some slack." he suggested gently without recrimination, "You're the only one that thinks you deserve half the shit you put yourself through."

"Thanks Bobby. Night." Was all he could manage.

Was he that obvious? Bobby meant well, hell he was right, but to be seen so clearly by him, to be so exposed was a little frightening. One thought led to another and Dean fell asleep thinking about his father. There were good memories. Dad could still tell a good joke and though John sang off key it was still fun to sing along with the tapes when they drove together. Hanging out at the motel drinking a couple of beer and trying to out cheat each other at poker was always good for a laugh. Dean began to dream of those good times but though every dream started out fun they turned ugly with John loosing his temper and throttling Dean. He woke up in a cold sweet to the silence of the roadhouse. For a childish moment he wished Sam was in a bed next to his so he could just see someone there and feel safer. A bird landed on the window sill kicking up a fuss. The dove, it was too weird. This could not be Gabriel, Dean was curtain. He intended to ask the bird who it was but Bobby came in to see what tripped his alarm and the bird flew away. Well, he wasn't alone.

Dean was glad that by the time he was leaving the roadhouse Jo was talking to him again. He really wanted to be friends. She was cheering about being free of this major pain in the ass and he could tell she was honestly joking. He kissed her cheek and told her she was a total babe. Mean while Ellen was making sure Bobby understood that all Dean's meat had to be stewed and hamburgers were out of the question._ 'You're killing me Ellen, you're killing me'_. As they drove away Jo suggested Ellen let Dean try to eat just one hamburger so he'd find out why he can't, but Ellen smiled saying this kind of pain was a lot more fun, men were such children.

There was a familiarity about the Roadhouse that allowed Dean to relax while he was there but the wrecking yard felt like home. He was not completely honest when he told Jo he never had a home. As he understood home it was, a place of safe harbour, a place of warmth and caring, a place where you are always welcome under any circumstances. That was not a building that was a person and that was Bobby Singer. So Dean did lie to Jo, he did have a home, he just couldn't talk about it without embarrassing everybody including himself. They approached the yard with Bobby explaining he couldn't electrify the fence during the day because of customers but at night if his dad tried to get in he'd get a jolt that would leave him just this side of a heart attack and if he got past that and Rumsfield then the house wouldn't be any picnic either. He put a mixture on the windows that will start John vomiting and keep him throwing up for at least an hour or more depending on the strength of the grudge.

"You're kidding me." Dean stammered eyes wide with amazement.

"No one with evil intent can touch the windows in this house Dean," Bobby warned, "That means if you hold any grudge against your dad for what he did to you and you touch a window without gloves on or your head's in a toilet for a while. I ain't touching 'em."

"Me neither. No way. Thanks for the warning." Dean said looking at the window distastefully.

"It's just on the outside Dean."

Bobby had set up a room on the main floor for Dean to sleep in. It was originally a little parlour that held a sewing machine and other craft things. Dean smiled and asked if Bobby had planned to have a family at one time. He muttered yah and changed the subject. What Bobby set up was far from elaborate but was functional. It had everything he needed. A comfortable bed, a dresser with drawers that didn't stick and a little mirror. He could have done without the mirror. There was a bedside table big enough for a clock, a glass and his watch. Finely there was a desk for Dean's books and lap top. Why the desk chair looked down right comfy. Dean arranged his few cloths in the dresser and the books on the desk. The jars of 'soap', and lotion, were placed in the desk drawers and the canister of 'tea' sat on top. By the time Dean was finished it looked like a lived in room.

Bobby came back in and asked, "You have that tea every a day, right?

"Yah?" Dean answered, "Before bed."

"Well why don't you put some in this little jar and I'll keep it in the kitchen so ..you…don. What are you doing?" Bobby leaned over the desk looking at the books.

"I was going over some of the more interesting spells, How to summon a demon and keep it under control. Some of the spells are in Enochian. I need to practice my pronunciation, it's lousy." Dean held up a journal, "I'm putting them into a book. Easier access then pulling out this huge baby all the time, and it doesn't look like it's been gently used. I'm trying to preserve it a little." Bobby looked a little confused, maybe distressed, not what Dean was going for, "You're not okay with this?"

"No problem. You know enough to be careful with that shit." Bobby grinned, "I just can't help thinking about New Orleans. You took down the Grand pooba of Voodoo priests. Four hunters went down there, three couldn't even find the son of a bitch. Todd was never heard from again till his dentals were identified in a cellar along with a couple a dozen others. You take him down, single handed or was your dad there?"

"Oh God no. I couldn't tell him he'd freak. It was messy, I shot human beings. Very ugly." Dean confessed, "This spirit out for blood went screaming and brought the whole crew down on me. I was lucky to be able to put down the zombies after I destroyed the alter before the priest and his boys were on top of me."

The silence in the room was heavy as Bobby stared at Dean like he didn't know what to make of him. It was a long and painful wait for Dean as he wondered if he just lost Bobby's respect.

"Did you hear me? The only other hunter to even find this guy wound up in a bone pile. You're excused for it not being perfect." Bobby wanted to smack him on the head for the apology but perused the remarkable book instead, "Vulgar Latin?" he returned to the original subject, "How is that I wonder?"

"From what I've been able to find out it came out of Italy, written by a priest who went dark side. Weird, his family had priests in every generation for like a thousand years or something and this one just goes wrong. There are spells in here using babies bones and human blood. All kinds of evil shit. I'm pulling out protection spells and useful stuff. I'm taking down this one about summoning in case I get a line on the bitch that cursed dad. I just got to hold it long enough to send it to hell.

"Damn handy. There should be something in there about a devil's trap." Bobby fingered the book gently with loving respect his eyes sparkling with glee like a kid at Christmas.

"Yah I came across something like that." Dean answered carefully.

"What do you know about the codex. Find out any more about the Quradu?" Bobby asked his mind wondering over all the books on the desk.

Dean sat back and composed his thoughts. He would have to be very careful about what he told Bobby and how. He couldn't very well tell him an Angel told me and Bobby could spot a lie further away then Maggie. It would have to be an Academy award worthy performance. With as much truth as possible.

"I've learned a lot Bobby." Dean said as he closed the grimoire, "It's a lot of conjecture based on lore and supported by archaeology. This book also tells a lot. It has a little section on etiquette. Which house to stay in and how much of the towns donations to take and what to do with the rest."

"I got lunch on the table." Bobby said after raising a hand, "Let's get comfortable and you can start at the beginning."

Soup with well cooked vegetables and crackers only as long as he softened them in soup. Yep Bobby was following the hospital orders. He might be more fun to argue with than Ellen but Dean accepted what was in front of him without complaint. Dean placed the book well away from the food and flipped through some of the pages.

"These hunters started a couple of thousand years before Christ and worshipped a one God when the only ones who didn't have a pantheon were the Jews. There's this fortress up in the mountains of Macedonia that has a lot of evidence of this group. It was destroyed during the inquisition, some say by ten or twenty thousand troupes lead by the Templar Knights. There's a notation at the back about knights in white tunics with a cross on it. This fortress has a really strange history of a temple that keeps rebuilding itself. The Ottoman empire destroyed it when they conquered the area. Then destroyed it again when they left in nineteen fifteen. Less than a year latter it was standing not a scorch mark on it when a Greek archaeologist went to check out the stories Get this. The place comes complete with salt covered stones, a two foot high iron grill all round the foundation, and an iron framed door and the temple has a strange sun, moon dove, cross, over the door."

"A what over the door?" Bobby asked wide eyed.

"A cross with a sun and moon over top and a dove sitting at the center of the cross beam." Dean said and showed him a print out of a picture he found on the Internet.

It had taken almost an entire day of hunting the web for that little piece of information and he knew what he was looking for. No wonder these guys were regarded as a myth.

"You say these early hunters had rules about taking donations and shit?" Bobby asked unconvinced.

"They weren't just socially acceptable they were revered." Dean answered after reading a few lines, "It used to be when a hunter came into a town alms were collected an given to him. People who had no money would bring food or cloths anything they could offer and people would vie for the privilege of having the hunter stay with them like it was a great honour. It says in the chapter about etiquette to stay with the most respected person, not the richest and to accept a small item from the poor people and tell them how much they needed the thing or how special it is or whatever to show respect for their generosity. "

"I sure as hell wouldn't mind a little of that attitude today. I got expenses."

"I hear yah." Dean agreed, "When they'd come to a town, people would gather around them asking for blessings and invite them to speak in the local church or temple. Sometimes the town through a party in the town square when they were finished getting rid of the evil or whatever."

After a moment of silence Bobby puffed, "No shit?"

"No shit." Dean insisted. "Mostly hunters were respected and for over a thousand years were supported by the church until the first inquisition."

Bobby puffed and chuckled, "Who's a thunk."

"It makes sense. Who likes to fry a demon more that the church? But the Quradu was older than the church and didn't recognize their authority. They chose the hunters them selves trained them their way etc. and eventually well."

"I can imagine." Bobby nodded.

Dean flipped to the last pages of the book and began to read muttering at first them aloud in English.

'_What has become of the Word, how could it become so twisted and foul? For a thousand years we fought side by side against evil. They enjoyed our protection and granted us their charity. That we do not bow to the will of this great church is cause for butchery? What mad men are they that they would destroy the Jedi for prides sake? It is fear which breeds such hate but what is it that breeds self-righteous conceit? They slaughter us and burn our temple and in doing so they damn themselves, all in the name of the word. They preach the word yet they do not hear it. They do not know it. Now they leave the innocent without the protection the creator had willed to them. We who were not at the temple is all that is left of the Quradu. We are so few and are now out law. Seventy no more but let the church turn its back, let us find no friend where we walk, the Quradu will continue. We are the Jedi.'_

"I don't know if that's the last entry because the book's complete or because the guy was killed." Dean pondered, "Most of it is a different hand writing, hell this is Hebrew not Akkadian. It was added in the back."

"We are the Jedi?" Bobby asked not laughing.

"You don't recognize it? Hebrew." Dean was surprised, "Quradu is God's mighty warrior in Akkadian and Jedi is Hebrew for God's beloved." He explained, "The date over the last entry is 1247, the mid evil Inquisition."

"That would be my guess." Bobby agreed.

"Sucks in Technicolor. I wonder what the church wanted so bad they'd slaughter these guys over a no."

Bobby decided it was safe to breath again. The way Dean read the passage with such intensity and passion had spooked the old family friend. He'd seen what could happen to people in this business who became religious zealots.

"During the inquisition they killed anybody for anything." Bobby answered.

"Yah I heard that."

"What about the other one there?" Bobby asked about the final book.

Dean grinned, "Ah the Book of Angels and Demons the who's who of heaven and hell. A who's who and a how to."

Bobby's eye's went wide with shear delight, "Yah you said that but are you going to let me translate it.?"

Dean's eyebrows went up, "Sure. You read Koine Greek?" But as Bobby's smile faded and he muttered, 'That's going to be a bitch to translate.' Dean piped up, "But I can translate it for you. We'll copy all the graphics and drawings and I'll input every word for you. You'll have your own copy in English." Dean's grin returned.

Bobby's smile returned with a hint of sweetness to it, "You're a good kid."

Dean's smile slipped, "My God, I sounded like Ritchie Cunningham. Bobby if I ever talk like that again hit me."

"But it was so cute." Bobby chuckled.

"Don't be cruel."

sssssssssssssssssssssssss

As concerned as Bobby was about Dean, the young hunter was an adult and Bobby wasn't inclined to tell another man how to run his life least of all in matters of convalescing. Dean was free to establish his own regiment. It began in the morning after a good breakfast which was getting better as time pasted. Dean would disappear into the yard. Bobby figured he didn't want anyone to see him struggling or falling on his face. Dean did do the knee, shoulder workouts, and face messages and exorcises but what he kept to himself was lying on top of a car and …

'_Drawing the heat of the light into his body, turning the heat into healing energy and channelling it to the wounds.' _

It wasn't terribly difficult for Dean to conceive of something like this working. He not only saw many a spell and incantation work but was a practitioner himself. What was difficult was the imagery aspects of the healing exorcise. After three days of feeling nothing Dean was beginning to wander what he doing wrong. Had he misunderstood the book or was he just too stupid to do it at all. He stretched out on the bed and read the passages on healing again. Yep he read it right but was he doing it right. He threw the book to the foot of the bed.

"The original passages in that book were written thousands of years ago. I wouldn't treat it roughly." Castiel's quiet voice came from the shadows of the desk.

Dean jumped inwardly, "Could you try knocking?"

Castiel knocked on the desk then stared in silence. Now that had to be a joke. He could not have been serious.

"I've been expecting you. Aren't you supposed to coach me?"

"It was proven in the past, that the strongest willed Quradu are easier to teach if they have had an opportunity to fail." Castiel explained his delayed arrival.

"Terrific." Dean groaned with a humourless grin on his face.

"Lay comfortably on your bed and close your eyes."

"Here not out in the sun."

"The sun is there. It is not required for you to see it?"

"But if you don't feel the sun on you how to you channel it's energy?"

"It would appear you have not failed enough."

"I just want to understand." Dean bristled.

"Trust me and you will."

It took a little effort to become comfortable even on the bed. Maybe that was what was the problem when he was laying outside. The discomfort was distracting him from feeling the heat. He closed his eyes and listened to Castiel.

"The sun is there, it is always there in light and darkness. It is somewhere giving heat to the world. You can feel it's heat only slightly or intensely but it is always there. See the waves of heat coming to you." Castiel began his voice growing soft and quiet, penetrating deep into Dean's mind commanding his attention until it was the only sound Dean could hear, "It is coming to you in waves from far above pulsing and shimmering. See it coming from the yellow flaming ball in the sky. Look closer, it isn't yellow but a white intense heat making a haze of waves descending to the earth." The picture in Dean's mind grew clearer and clear as Castiel spoke. It was as if there was nothing between him and the sun with heat waves descending to him from a cloudless sky and soft comfort all around. "It's powerful heat washes over you, surrounding you, penetrating your flesh rushing to the pain wherever it may be filling it with worm radiating energy banishing all pain and energizing your flesh. Your flesh tingles and pulses with the energy of the heat growing with the power of the suns energy …"

Dean was gone, lost in the peculiarity and wonder of being pain free. He floated there in the comfortable white nothing, surrounded by the worm energy that fed his healing wounds until Bobby woke him to take his pain killers. He did a quick glance around the room to insure Castiel wasn't there then glared at Bobby.

"Dude you have no idea what you just interrupted." he growled.

"Were you in the middle of Uma Thurman or Lucy Lui?" Bobby asked with a grin.

"Both." Dean chuckled and took his meds.

* * *

**Reproofed and only a few mild alterations for better and clearer reading. Please let me know if I have missed any errors or any part of it is still confusing. PLEASE, I beg on bended knee. I need to know how I'm doing. I still haven't found a bata reader.**


	15. Chapter 15 From The Ashes

**I wish I owned Sam Dean and Supernatural but I don't.**

***This chapter was been reproofed and reposted with small changes made to improve flow and comprehension.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15**

**FROM THE ASHES**

Bobby and Dean fell into a loose easy routine that allowed Dean to go off and work when the mood moved him or could rest when over indulgence raised the pain levels too high without having to explain himself. When one of Bobby's phones rang Dean quickly learned to shut up and wait for the call to be over. When he grew more comfortable he pitched in from time to time when his host was doing pressing the future past when Sam and Dean stayed at Bobby's they were working on a pressing problem but even then they never stayed more than a few days at a time. By the end of the second week of watching Bobby taking care of business Dean began to truly appreciate how much Bobby did for others and how much more for them.

Bobby was gracious enough to accept 'I have a knack for languages' as an explication when Dean didn't have trouble translating any of the books. Not even cuneiform. Dean thought it either very trusting or a great complement to Bobby's measure of his intellect. Dean couldn't think of anything less boring than sitting at a computer and transcribing a book but he would do it for Bobby. By the end of the second week Dean was dedicated to the work and was thinking about inputting the codex as well. He even ignored that irritated feeling that came over him when Bobby would lean over his shoulder to read rather than waiting for the print out. He found as time passed they could even quarrel and get over it without difficulty. They were alike in this respect. They differed, they bitched, and then it was over and forgotten.

Dean would help Bobby when he could but he had work of his own to do. First and foremost he had his physical therapy to three times a day. After Castiel's first visit Dean was waiting each evening for his next lesson in energy channelling. For days Castiel focused solely on the healing, each evening helping Dean slip in the trance like meditative state but with each session Castiel used hypnotic influence less and less teaching Dean to do more and more on his own. Dean pointed out that Castiel said it would take at least a year but Dean was able to slip into energy channelling alone within weeks.

"You have increased your healing by twenty five to thirty percent and will continue to improve. You're mind is well disciplined. It should take no more than a year, before you will be able to heal a potentially fatal wound within days." Castiel said, in his view praising Dean, "We should begin to develop your other senses and physical skills."

Dean realised Castiel intended to be his couch not only in healing but in all things in the codex. He was happy to further improve his memory recall. He had begun placing fairly large bets on games he remembered, and had an impressive stash of cash hidden in the car. As soon as he was getting around better, he intended to go to a couple of sports bars in Sioux Falls and take up the practice again. The rest he was only showing a casual interest in. But with Castiel calling his attention to the skills and how much better a hunter he would be Dean gave them a closer look. The exorcises were complex, long term and extensive, not only geared to improving basic senses such as hearing and sight but instincts practically to the point of psychic.

"You really think I can develop this stuff?" Dean asked marvelling at some of the abilities the book describe.

"Of course. Is it not true you brother will develop sight and more?" Castiel asked.

"Yah but that's all demon powers." Dean pointed out.

"Demon blood can control psychic abilities but it can not create them."

Dean stared at his friend in utter shock, tainted with anger. He wanted to take Castiel's head off for waiting this long to tell him something so important. No, for never telling him. Years of fear for Sam, that could have been ended yet not a word. Worse, he and Uriel said they wanted to kill Sam for using them. He tried hard to control his temper but when he spoke much of the venom was in his tone.

"How could you not tell me that?" Dean snapped, "You told me if I didn't stop Sam from using his powers you'd kill him. Why if it wasn't demon powers?'

Castiel thought a moment, it was hard to answer to things he hadn't done yet, might never do. He searched through Dean's memories, for some reason for making such a threat and did eventually find it.

"Samuel was drinking demon blood. It feeds on the darkest aspects of the human soul." Castiel found the answer that would give cause for the threat, "He was drinking demon blood and was under the influence of a demon. This would have been the danger and the cause of the warning."

"Alright." Dean nodded, that made sense and asked, "If Sam developed his powers on his own, without the blood than that would be alright? No risk?"

"While Azazel lives he can influence your brother's evolution but if you can again kill the demon Sam will be free to develop his skills and earn the title Jedi." Castiel gave him the good news, "However if you're brother begins drinking demon blood he will again become corrupted. Then only by a purging could he ever become Quradu."

"As long as he never drinks demon blood he's in the clear." Dean wanted it spelled out.

"Yes." Castiel confirmed, "And you Dean, Micheal's intended vessel will have gifts as well." He added then unceremoniously took the book from Dean, "I will show you."

Though he took no part in the writing of the book, through the early centuries of the Quradu he assisted a number of them in their training and had read the book through from cover to cover. At the beginning of the manual a passage was added in one of the latter evolutions of the text.

'_It is the duty of every Quradu to strive to discover the talents he is blessed with and develop them as the creator intended. As each begins his quest some will discover many gifts some only a few. Each in accordance with his abilities must nurture his gifts. The quest and dedication will in time be rewarded with more and greater gifts each found easier than the last for the more one strives in service to our creator the more one will be given.'_

Dean sat back and smiled. The future just got a little brighter. In one week Dean would be seeing the doctor again and hopefully be loosing some baggage. Some of the exorcises were purely mental endeavours but some were not and as in most things Dean was not one for half measures nor was he particularly patient. Until he had full use of his legs Dean poured all his efforts into developing his senses working for hours at a time until he had a head ache, or a worse one than he usually did. He would try to rest but was never very good at that. Bobby didn't have any magic fingers to tempt him so instead he did some exorcises to tone the parts of his body that weren't damaged. On days when he worked too hard and felt he made little progress Bobby would see Dean's drawn tired face and suggest he take a rest or relax in front of the TV. More often then not Dean would snap at him to mind his own business or some such thing. He always apologised for snapping until Bobby told him he'd be beaten with a monkey wrench if he didn't stop apologising. That was fine by Dean. All the apologies were damned embarrassing.

Dean was beginning to notice an improvement as time passed. His arm was growing stronger, the pain in his face was growing duller and even the pain in his leg was localizing around the knee. It never left but it wasn't as wide spread and was much duller. Dean's next appointment with Doctor 'roadhouse' Rolly Barstow was three weeks after moving in with Bobby. Though he had burnt himself out with the healing exorcises, faith was never Dean's long suit. He climbed into the truck with few expectations but somewhere deep inside was a secret hope. He arrived at the small clinic attached to a strip mall. The X rays and everything else was all in the same building. Sioux Falls had a population of over a hundred thousand but in this part of town they were lucky to even have a clinic. The doctor had to look twice at Dean's face. Dean handed him the X rays they had, had to wait so long for. The doctor looked at the X rays then back and forth several times before clicking the lights off and getting pissed.

"How did you do this. The arm can come out of the sling now when it should be next month. That leg shouldn't be ready for a lateral walking brace for at least another month." he marvelled rather roughly, "I can schedule removal of that torture contraption next week, now how is that possible? And your face is healing way to fast. Either I get some explanations or I'm calling the American Medical Association, the National Institute of Health and the American Federation for Medical Research."

"I'm afraid it's nothing miraculous. Just holistic medicine." Dean played it causal.

"You're afraid? I don't want miracles, I want something I can use." Rolly growled good naturedly, "Common give, I have needy patents."

"The bones healing so fast is part genetics and part meditation. Channelling energies, shit like that." Dean answered with the right amount of truth, "It can take years to learn."

"Meditation?" Rolly was appropriately skeptical.

"Genetics, meditation and a very specific herbal tea." Dean looked him right in the eye, "I can bring you a sample of the tea at my next visit."

The doctor sat back in is chair and gave his patent the once over twice. He was wearing a light grey sweat shirt zippered up the front and a pair of jeans cut down the side but tied together over the network of cast and brace and on his good foot a boot. He hadn't resorted to shorts, or sweat pants, no runners and the braced leg had the hospital sock covering the toes. There was none of the everyman type of things people resorted to in situations like this. Rolly recognized the set to this young man's eyes, the way he held his head, the shoulders back but easy, his expressions, his smirk. During his medical school years he saw many a young men in leather jackets and motorcycle boots swagger up to the bar and as he mixed their drink or brought them a beer they told many a tale while hitting on every girl who came within reach. Then there were the young men like this one. He probably owned a leather jacket and that boot had a match. No doubt he told a tale or two but it was the ones he wasn't telling that would have been worth hearing. Yah Rolly knew the type, the ones that won the fight with the big guy who's girlfriend wanted to change partners.

"Give me a break buddy, you're no new age Yanni fan sleeping under a pyramid." Rolly called a spade a spade.

"Sleeping under a pyramid? No dude." Dean had to think fast, "I just believe in the power of the mind. I don't have a religion or belief system of any kind. I believe in the power of me. Pyramids and Yanni? Please, I'm a Zeppelin fan."

"The power of you?" Rolly wondered.

He'd heard of miracle like results born of sheer force of will. It still felt off but the doctor realized he wasn't going to get any more than that out of Dean. One rarely pulled a lot of information out of that type.

"I'll bring you a sample of the tea if you like." Dean offered again.

The Doctor's report was conformation that the Quradu healing techniques were working and Dean was determined to keep the momentum going. For the immediate, he was running out of tea. It wasn't a taste treat, but it wasn't terrible, a little like a spicy wine. Castiel informed him he could add a touch of sugar to improve the flavour without hurting the tea which he tried and quickly stopped. It was already to flavourful.

Dean told Bobby he was going into town for a few supplies. As exotic herbs go the hibiscus petals where fairly easy to come by but he would have to go to Omaha for another shipment of fermented crushed red grape skins and fennel seed. Bobby insisted on driving. Dean tried to not take offense to Bobby's pocketing of the keys but it was hard to swallowed the lack of trust. Dean thought he was over the little things so pissing him off but apparently not. Having this surges of temper, feeling them needling away at his insides was irritating and uncomfortable as well as being potentially dangerous. It was the one negative in the face of all the positive he gained from the codex.

Having brewed the ointment Dean was now forced to give up the silicone patches in order to use it. After a fashion he was going on faith, faith in Castiel. The draw back was he lost his only means of hiding the disfigured half of his face. The prospect of going out in public somewhere other than clinic had Dean's stomach churning. Bobby came back from a quick trip in town with a couple of hats, something Dean wasn't in the habit of wearing. He had avoided taking a trucker cap from Bobby on the grounds that it wouldn't hide his face. Of his well intended friend's offerings the least objectionable was a dark grey fedora. The hat style had made a comeback of late. Even a few rock stars were wearing them. And it had the wide dipping brim he could pull down over his right eye. The crown wasn't quit as high as Indiana Jones and the rim came down a little lower over the face (more fifties gangster like) which suited Dean just fine. That was the point. It had shadowed the patch over the eye. Now it hid not only the scares but a simple wire rimmed pair of glasses Jo came all the way from Sutherland just to tease him about. But for all the tilted hat and head bowing he was still noticed.

Dean was crouched down in the seat hiding when Bobby pulled up outside the 'Mediterranean Imports Herbarium'. When Bobby asked him if he wanted to wait in the car his back straitened like it had been snapped. 'Suck it up you wuss.' he yelled at him self, and climbed out of the Camaro making sure to pull the fedora down and braved the prying eyes. It took two stores for Dean to get everything he needed and Bobby several more to complete the shopping he hadn't planned to do for a couple of days.

It's funny how people will sneak peeks at someone then act so indignant when they're caught in the act. All the same Dean refused to leave until Bobby had everything he was looking for. Hiding at Bobby's had spoiled him. By the time Dean was back at Singer Salvage the full weight of his situation was squarely back on his shoulders. The thick squiggly worms slithering across his face had settled down quit a bit. They had visibly shrunk. Compared to what had been, they were much better. Compared to none at all they were, very visible dark red raised marks marring his face.

"You are so going to pay for this bitch." Dean cursed Meg where ever she was, then added, "Suck it up!" when he felt tears forming in his eyes.

Dean turned away form the mirror, afraid of what looking at himself was doing to him, to find Bobby standing in the door way looking rather concerned. He pointed to the canvas bag.

"Did you want that stuff in the kitchen?" Bobby asked indicating the herbs, his reason for being there, "Got the pestle and a couple of jars set up for you."

"Yah thanks." Dean answered embarrassed.

Bobby knew better than to remark on such a moment. Latter, maybe, if Dean appeared to be receptive which wouldn't be likely but right then not a chance.

"Mind if I ask a personal question?" Bobby asked as they measured out the different flowers, leaves and seeds for the tea.

"Any time, Bobby you know that." Dean answered.

"I got a call. It seems Chuck down at Hadley's sports bar wondered if I knew my house guest was talking to a bookie." Bobby spoke of their stop for lunch. He should have suspected something when Dean suggested a sports anything for any reason, "Is there something I should know?"

"Not really. I've been putting down a few bets for a few months, doing really well. Made enough to pay for Sam's next year at Stanford plus my expenses for a while but this is costing me. Thought I'd try the parlay. I need to build funds up again."

"Are you serious?" Bobby gagged, "A year at a college like that is at least ten thousand dollars, or more."

"Yah I figure that. I have the money hidden in the back seat." Dean offered by way of an answer.

"You have over ten grand hidden in a car?" Bobby stammered, "Are you out of your mind? Why the hell isn't it in a bank?"

"What the hell do I know about banks? I could rob one but open an account?" Dean asked, "I don't have a real address, I can't remember the last time I used my real name. How the hell can I get a bank account. At the rate I'm working these bets I could be damned comfortable in a year or two but unless you know some way I could have an account and still use fake ID's it will all have to be hidden in the back of my car.

"There's a couple of people I can ask. As for betting have you ever tried doing it on line. Bobby suggested. "It's not exactly legal but when has that ever stopped you."

"Don't you need to have and account for that?"

"Like I said." Bobby growled

A complete identity with an account. Did they know anyone who could do all that? The name Ash came to mind but wasn't he at MIT at the moment? Dean would leave it in Bobby's very capable hands and turned his attention back to his health. The biggest obstacle in his path to recovery had been the brace. It was not simply the pain, the cumbersome contraption drastically restricted work outs. Dean had never gone so long without physical activity of some kind. With hope on the rise the the battle began. The battle with impatiens, with frustration and with the waxing and waning of hope.

* * *

"That's great." Sam cheered upon hearing all the good news, "How did you do it?"

"Herbal medicine and this book on self healing. Focusing your mind and all that shit." Dean kept it simple, "Sam you know I've always been a good healer."

"You're the proverbial cat with nine lives." Sam chuckled, "Worrying about you is a waste of time and energy.

"So true." Dean agreed with a big laugh, "You shouldn't be wasting you're brain cells. Looking after this family is my job."

"Speaking of family have you seen or heard from dad?" Sam asked.

"He called Bobby and said 'Just tell me he's alright'" Dean answered soberly, "Bobby said better than alright and dad hung up. He said the old man didn't sound so good."

After a brief silence Sam asked, "Any line on the demon who did this?"

"It looks like she's traveling west so watch your ass little brother."

"West how do you know?" Sam asked out of reflex, Sam loved to know.

"The trail of bodies dude." Dean answered, "She likes to slash throats so keep your eyes on the local papers and tell me if you find so much as one sliced jugular."

"Can I call you from the airport while I'm waiting for a flight to South Dakota?" Sam asked.

"You'd run without me or dad ordering you to?" Dean asked surprised.

"I'll wait till I have back up." Sam said sensibly, "I don't know a lot about demons Dean and if I screw up I can get people killed. Like Jessica for example."

"Glad to hear your thinking smart, Sammy." Dean gave him the credit he was due, "But don't run, that's a tip off. Do nothing till Bobby and I get there. We want to trap her and save dad. We may even get some information about the end game before we send the bitch back to hell." 'Or better still kill the bitch.'

"I'll stay sharp and call you if I so much as suspect some one." Sam promised, "I'll be finished my exams by the end of May then a few days to clear up registration issues. I should be able to get to Sioux Falls by the first week of June. Bobby will probably be happy to get rid of you." Sam chuckled.

He must have heard Sam and Dean thinking about him. Bobby jutted his chin in Dean's direction staring out form under his cap waiting to know how he came into the conversation.

"Sam's coming out here to take me off you're hands before I turn you homicidal." Dean explained.

Bobby laughed then grumbled, "Like he's got anywhere to take you. If I can live with one Winchester this long I'll live through two. Tell him he can make up the bed in the guest room himself. The most I'm doing is telling him where to find the sheets."

"Bobby says we'll have no where to go. You can make up your own bed, and if you're almost as charming as me, he'll even provide the sheets ." Dean relayed the message.

"And you're okay with that?" Sam was surprised his too proud, I don't take charity I steal, brother was accepting Bobby's hospitality for so long.

"Well, he's dad proofed this place and I'm not finish transcribing the books for him." Dean explained, "I finished the Angels and Demons and I've started on the codex. Then comes the grimoire. Although Bobby doesn't need me to translate Latin, when I leave so does it, so it's going into the computer too."

"Hay that's really good of you Dean." Sam was impressed.

Dean shrugged it off, "All things considered, it's the least I can do."

"Yah, considering he's putting up with a pain in the ass like you maybe he's getting under paid." Sam shifted into little brother mode.

"Hay there are those who would pay for my company." Dean laughed enjoying the lightness of Sam's tone.

"What cougars and old men in allies? Twenty dollars for twenty minutes." Sam used an old hooker's line.

"What, are you kidding? Five hundred dollars for half an hour and that's discounted." Dean laughed not giving him the rise of temper he may have expected.

The jokes and cheep shots continued for some time washing away Dean's nerves over the surgery scheduled for the next day. It felt good to laugh with Sam, it was so real, so genuine. So free of the trust issues and the pain of mistakes made and faith lost on both sides. Now to continue the bonding.

"Sammy I don't think the trip to the Grand Canyon would be a good idea for me right now." Dean apologised, "White water rafting was never my long suit and I don't need to be that kind of banged around."

"That's okay Dean. Under the circumstances I'll forgive you." Sam laughed but honestly didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved.

"But I've been looking into other things we could do. There's the trip to Mexico idea or here's something I heard about from some people in the hospital. Riverboat tours on the Mississippi." Dean suggested, "I did some checking into it. There's a singles tour with a casino and Vegas like shows and it stops at all kinds of cities."

"Are you serious?" Sam was stunned.

"Why not?" Dean snapped defensively, "I can do the normal thing. Go on a vacation and play tourist up and down the Mississippi like a regular person. Hell there's even a couple of haunted places all set up for civilians we could go and laugh at. What's so wrong with a vacation like that? You think it would be boring or just stupid?"

"Damn it Dean it sounds great." Sam heard absolutely everything Dean was saying, "I'm just shocked you would find something like that fun. I was expecting beaches and bikinis."

"This boat has a pool which in summer means bikinis and …I quote 'Vegas like shows' which means there will be show girls." Dean laughed, "And it has a casino. Bikinis, show girls and a casino, does it get better than that? So we're on?"

"Can you really afford this?" Sam was worried.

"Ah Sammy I have done so well Bobby is setting up a legit bank account for me in the Cayman Islands." Dean laughed. "I have some money for you, the wad I promised. Give me you're account so I can send it to you."

"I'm not taking your money." Sam objected.

"I've been saving this money, I've got lots." Dean assured him, "You don't have a dad to pay for you're education, you have me instead, so don't fight me on this. It would be such a hassle to have to come there and kick your ass. Give me you're account so I can send you the money."

'What the hell.' Sam thought he could always use a another thousand dollars and it would make Dean happy to be contributing to the cause. But he wished Dean had ended the conversation. They'd already talked about the demon, all sad conversation should have ended there. Why did he have to ask about Jessica and Brady. Sam had gone a whole hour without thinking about them.

He tried not to kid himself about Jessica waiting for him but when he saw his two best friends laughing together. Looking so intently at each other. Well ….

* * *

Jessica had set her sights on Sam Winchester. He was her dream man. Strong yet gentle, brilliant with a touch of whimsy and filled with dreams, a balanced blend of what she was looking for in a man. Extremely good looking didn't hurt either. He didn't seem to have any of the usual chauvinistic tendencies or stereo typical guy issues which was a plus. What more could a girl ask for? That he be hers would be a good start.

Jessica stuck with him, seeing him every chance she found, going to the places he loved the most and making sure she didn't loose touch with mutual friends. But it didn't help. Even when they were together he was so reserved and sad it was almost painful to watch. Oh he smiled and talked like they were old friends, and even confided in her, but there was pain in his eyes coupled with the longing he would not surrender to. To see it so evident while he smiled and laughed began to worry Jessica. What kind of man could be so deceptive and why? Was there some dark secret he was hiding from her, a shady past or family curse he was protecting her from? It all seemed so disturbingly romance novelish, and completely frustrating, but believing him worth the struggle Jessica was prepared to hang in, until her best girlfriend planted a seed of doubt.

"Does it matter why he's pulling this crap on you?" she asked, "The fact that he is, is creepy. He's lying to your face, and breaking your heart and don't try to tell me he doesn't know that."

"But he's trying to protect me from something I'm sure of it." Jessica argued, "Some kind of family tragedy or something. I don't know."

"It doesn't matter Jess. I don't care if he's brilliant, rich and looks like Brad Pitt." her friend countered, "If he can lie to my face like that, play this kind of bull shit game he obviously doesn't trust you and doesn't respect you. And he isn't trustworthy, or honest or deserving of your respect."

No she knew Sam better than that, Jessica insisted, but the seed was there gnawing at her insides. And then there was Brady. Not nearly so perfect as Sam but he was honest, charming and funny and with the drugs out of his system possessed of a sharp mind and ambition. He had that precious optimism that was so important to her and was openly interested. Not as perfect as Sam, then again, Sam was lying to her and pushing her away while not completely letting her go. Perhaps he was not quite so perfect after all.

* * *

Bobby had suggested betting on line. The beauty of it is you can live in South Dakota, lay a bet in Nevada and have it pay to an account in the Cayman Islands. With the help of an acquaintance an account was set up which legally hid his identity. Dean didn't know he could legally use an alias but the fact was as long as Dean had his pass code and the bank had his true name he could use any name on the bank or credit card he wanted. It would be payed by a number account no one but he could identify.

With Castiel working with him to improve his memory recall within weeks Dean was able to search his mind and almost see the game scores as if he had the paper in front of him. The only thing slowing him down was how often he had been inclined to look at those scores. It was baseball season and Dean always had an interest in the game. T ball was one of the fond memories of his childhood that he clung to. Dean was averaging three to five thousand dollars a bet and bet a minimum of once a week. He was winning more than he'd ever had in his life and more than he felt he needed. Dean's life style was very simple so the only thing he needed the money for Sam's college so if he was not able to regain his full scholar ship he'd still be able to go to school when Azazel was dead. And if Dean could have a little fun and go on a vacation or two with Sammy well that was good too. After paying for the operation to remove the brace there was still a tidy sum in the bank to pay for the trip and live on for months.

* * *

Dean was careful not to ride the wave too high as he began to work on getting the leg back in shape. It couldn't even support his weight at first and that was with a telescoping brace. It would eventually be replaced by a lateral support brace that could be hidden under a pair of jeans and Dean was determined to have that brace before the vacation. As far as Sam was concerned the vacation could be any time before September and was hinting at after that.

Everything else was holding together despite the odds so Dean continued to be optimistic. With these goals in mind he put the codex to work. No matter how many times he landed on his face Dean picked himself up, voiced his disgust with himself and kept working. He pushed hard until he began to see progress then he began pushing himself for more all the while, continuing to drink the healing tea and channel energy. Bobby's wrecking yard became an obstacle course he ran through every morning. Castiel devised twists, turns and hurtles which he raised each time they grew remotely easy. There were poles and hand holds and hand grabs for chin ups and iron man lifts. After months of little to no physical activity Dean had a lot of flab to get rid of and he was eager to do it. If only Castiel wasn't such a drill sergeant.

A bonus for them both was the time they spent after Dean's workouts sitting on a seat they pulled out of a the back of a Buick and talking. Castiel admitted he wanted to know all about the other future, how they became friends, the battles they fought and what it had done to him. Dean didn't hold back about how far wrong Castiel's brothers had gone but was more diplomatic when discussing how God had no intention of helping. Dean could care less about the divine being but Castiel did and seeing how deeply he had been cut by God's rejection Dean thought to save him a little pain. Besides "I knew you would be making the journey" kept running through his mind every time the subject of God came up. These times were a pleasant break for both Castiel and Dean, a time of bonding.

Slowly, inch by inch Dean began to see progress but it did not come without cost. He usually limped back to the house his face drawn and covered with a sheen Bobby recognized.

"You going to be alright?" Bobby asked.

"I'm fine. You're not going to start fussing are you Bobby?" Dean grumbled.

"Of course I'm fussing. You're supposed to make supper tonight." Bobby growled, "I've been looking forward to a meatloaf an baked potato dinner all afternoon. Don't you dare disappoint me. Now lie down and get some rest"

Dean made an excellent stew and a decent pot roast, his spaghetti was tasty, and he got the chilli recipe from a cook who had won prices for it, but for some reason it was his meatloaf that Bobby truly loved. Dean grumbled all the way to his room and lay down with a vicodin before he gave it up and grinned. Well played Bobby will played, and he was out like a light seconds latter.

He had gone to sleep thinking pleasant thoughts but his body was racked with pain. The pain infiltrated his thoughts and dreams and dominated the course of his meandering fantasies. When he opened his eyes he was looking at a very worried Bobby trying to pin his arms to his chest while shouting 'You're alright, Dean you're alright.' Dean had to look around the room to make sure he was where he thought he was. For some strange reason he couldn't take Bobby's word for it. Dean began to apologise but Bobby just patted him on the shoulder and said it happens to all of us, damned job.

That was a bad one. Worse than some of the ones he had when he first got back from hell. They came back when he began reducing the med's. Without them to suppress the nightmares their return was inevitable but why so bad? Dean wasn't interested in any more sleep and got up to start the best meat loaf he ever made and prepared one of the few desserts he knew how to make. If he remembered correctly Bobby liked apple crisp. He stopped for a moment and thought damn I could make some one a great wife. God take me now.

Dean's day time activities were wondrously successful. With the strength growing in his leg and encouragement from his coach Dean drove himself through his ever increasingly hard obstacle course constantly loosening the restraint of the leg brace until the day he arrived at the doctors office, without the cane he had been warned to make good use of.

Rolly stared at him a moment then the X rays then shook his head, "You can take off that full brace but you're knee will be unstable. It may always be unstable. How did you heal and build up the strength or is my questioning becoming redundant?"

"Meditation, a herbal tea, ignore the pain and exorcise."

"That's a lot of pain." Rolly shook his head with some doubt.

"I know, but I've had a lot of practice."

Knowing how much pain Dean was talking about made the statement a little disturbing. Rolly didn't ask, he didn't want to know. If Dean wasn't an ex soldier and former POW the possibilities were too unpleasant.

"Incidentally here's the sample of tea I promised you." Dean held out a small jar, "There's enough here for a half a dozen cups, one a night."

"Mind if I have it tested in a lab?" Rolly asked.

"Sure, it's yours. Do what you like." Dean grinned.

Any testing wouldn't produce a lot of answers but it was a means of explaining his speedy recovery. That and meditation. The truth, so scary.

Dean discovered switching from the full leg to the knee brace made him less stable when walking without the cane but there was definite freedom of mobility without the great mass of harness and metal running from thigh to ankle. For Dean it was a matter of learning to trust the brace would hold when he felt the knee start to give. Each morning Dean ran his obstacle course then worked on his mental exercises. In the afternoon he would help Bobby with anything needed then combat training with an Angel as his training partner and finely run the course again in the cool of the evening.

Dean stood at the end of his course looking back over it and wondered how he did it. He would be calling Sam that evening making plans for their holiday and he didn't want to do it with so much unsettled in his mind. Doc Rolly had been perturbed by his rapid recovery. Dean now knew how he felt. He shouldn't have been able to do that. He was supposed to climb that wall not jump over it. It's at least six feet high and him with a gimpy leg.

"You've been drinking the tea for over two months which builds you own healing abilities and stimulates rejuvenation. You've been working your body beyond it's capacity to function then healing it. What happens when you do that?" Castiel asked.

"Is that a trick question?" Dean asked joining the Angel on their favourite seat. It was annoying how rested Cass looked after running the course with him. Dean took a long drink of water before continuing, "Could you just tell me what you're driving at."

"In humans when you damage muscle and it repairs itself it does so with greater muscle." Castiel put it simply, "You have been rejuvenating at a greatly accelerated rate. Will you be able to maintain this current level of training?"

"Once I'm back on the job, not a chance." Dean shook his head.

"As long as you remain active you will be able to keep your heightened abilities and they will continue to grow although at a slower rate."

"Castiel that's a scary thought." Dean said with some trepidation, "I just jumped over a six foot wall with a gimpy leg using a one hand pull and I did it like I was going over a two foot rail. Everybody jokes about how great it would be to have supper powers but the reality is …. I don't want to hurt anybody. That's the flip side. Power corrupts and I'm having these anger issues. I don't want to become something, well, How do I say this...? "

"Dean a true impossibility is you forgetting how to be human." Castiel said with a suggestion of a smile. "That will not happen. You will not become so strong you can topple building and you will not loose your humanity."

"I did once. I was in Hell but the fact remains that I did." Dean confessed, "The day you can say 'It's me or you and it ain't going to be me.' you've lost a piece of your soul."

"You will not, Dean." Castiel stressed, "I have traveled the course of your memories and examined your past life. The fact that I gave you the codex indicates I had faith in you then. I would never consider giving it to anyone with the remote possibility of becoming a threat to others. Have faith in yourself."

"If you say so dude." Dean said feeling the full weight of the old friendship, "By the way can you tell me why my hair is longer now than before it was shaved off?"

"Hair growth is an aspect of rejuvenation." Castiel monotoned.

"Well there had to be a downside." Dean mused, "Increased need for hair cuts, not a bad one. Any word on Azazel? Anything I should know about?"

"I have been looking for signs. There is evidence of lower demons on the move. Azazel himself is still quiet but something may have disturbed him if the signs are from his minions." Castiel answered.

"Any minions moving toward Palo Alto?" Dean asked growing ill.

"There are signs moving in the direction of the south western states." Castiel reported.

"Let me know will you?" Dean asked trying not to sound needy.

"I will inform you of developments."

"Bobby's coming." Dean warned.

"You sensed that." Castiel grinned.

"Yah I guess I did."

"It begins, you are growing into you natural talents."

"Seems like." Dean grinned trying to sound casual, "Later Cass."

* * *

With the transcription of the books complete Dean dedicated what time he had to spare to helping Bobby with research. Only once before had Dean ever stayed in one place so long since his mother died and that wasn't a good memory. For months he was somewhere safe, he was wanted, and cared for. *'O brave new world that has such people in it.' or places or something. Dean didn't know. What he did know was the familiarity and comfort that had taken years to build in the 'past' life was already there and in a far more settled way. Maybe some things were starting off bad but others were going well.

The original plan was to pick up Sam and stay with Bobby until Dean was ready to move on. Well Sam wasn't coming for two more weeks but Dean was ready to get on the road. As Dean prepared to move on he came upon the colt. The moment they took it from the vampires Azazel was after it. Why wasn't that a problem now? For that matter why hadn't Azazel attempted to get it from Daniel Elkins. What was different? Dad had used it, Dean hadn't? The key to the devils gate had to remain hidden.

ssssssssssssss

"Bobby, do you know about the old cowboy cemetery in Wyoming?" Dean asked after dinner one night.

"Should I?" Bobby asked not particularly interested.

"There's a devils gate there and I have the key to it." Dean answered.

Bobby looked up from his book eyes wide, "Well you sure have my attention."

"At the center of the cemetery is a gate to hell. It's guarded by a devil's trap made out of a hundred miles of iron railway ties. This colt I have was made in 1835 when Halley's comet was over head. They say it can kill anything. It can also open the devil's gate. Bobby can you build a box that is so protected a demon can't see into it and it can't be scribed for? I know there is a symbol that can lock a box no demon can open but I'm looking for something that can hide it too."

"Sure son I can do that." Bobby nodded after a thoughtful silence, "I can bury it here somewhere here no one will ever find it."

"I think it would be safer on the move." Dean answered after thinking about it.

He didn't want to make Bobby a target. If Meg or Azazel ever discovered Bobby had it he wouldn't be shown any mercy. Dean had little doubt he'd be bringing Bobby trouble enough without adding this to the list of burdens. It only took a couple of days to design and build the box then secure it under the back seat of the Impala.

Dean had loaded up the trunk. All his weapons were cleaned, sharpened, oiled or whatever their needs were and his ammo supply was topped up. Without dad to worry about Dean kept the books in a duffel in the car. The hidden compartment in the seat could be used for something else if necessary. Dean looked at the trunk then at the car and couldn't figure out what the problem was. Something was missing but what was it. He hated that feeling. Bobby handed him the mortar and pestle. Ah, that was it. They kept the goodbye's brief, Thanks and keep in touch. It was what they were comfortable with and Dean left home for the first time in this life time. Funny that something missing feeling was still there.

* * *

Bobby puttered around the house feeling it's emptiness and quiet. For so long he had lived with his solitude tolerating quests only briefly and was content with his own company. Now that pang of loneliness he used to feel when the boys would be picked up after a few weeks stay was back only worse then ever before. Bobby wondered back to the little parlour/bedroom to poke around and say another goodbye. He started yanking the sheets off the bed and found on the far side half under the bed a large sketch pad and some pencils. He stared in muted silence at the strange objects wondering what Dean would be doing with such civilized objects. He sat on the bed and began to turn the pages.

One the first pages were drawing of various objects Dean handled every day, a gun, a rifle, a knife and of course the Impala. No one would have called them great art Then came sketches of the parlour from different angles and bits and pieces of the yard. They were followed by drawings of buildings and places Bobby didn't recognize. Some were more detailed then others and a few were only half done but the skill of the sketching was improving with the turning of each page. A sketch of Bobby napping in a chair on the back porch was not quite complete. It was him right down to the emblem on his cap. There was one of the whole yard from across the road complete with SINGER SALVAGE in clear letters over the gate and stacked cars behind the fencing, everything in amazing detail and the skill was impressive. The most amazing one was of the living room, the stacks of books complete with titles on every surface everything was there including Bobby sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee.

Dean then turned his hand to portraits. There first ones were a given, Sam, and John complete with dimples, then one of him, cap and all and one of himself pre scares. There was a young John and Mary, an older John and Mary and assortment of others including Ellen and Jo. Finely there were some Bobby didn't know including a quietly handsome man with short dark brown hair wearing a suit, a tan trench type coat and a suggestion of a smile. There was no background just the man and what looked like a representation of sky. In one corner Dean wrote Cass. Dean had mentioned some one named Castiel teaching him to read the ancient languages. Another was a man lounging in a settee a quirky grin on his face. He was an average looking man, perhaps a little funny looking but with powerful eyes that commanded attention. In the corner was written Gabe. Bobby didn't know every hunter in the business. He flipped the page. A round faced balding man had a cold menacing look and an other a more elegant African American gentleman in a three piece suit who had a darkness about him. He hoped they weren't hunters. There were people in this business a young man just didn't need to become involved with.

Bobby flipped back to the sketches of the yard. Under the one of the whole yard Dean had written 'Where the heart is'. Bobby ran that phrase though his mind a couple of times and finely came up with "Home is where the heart is." Bobby refused to slip into sentimentality and coughed to clear his throat before closing the book and putting it away. Two weeks latter an array of sketches were framed on the wall beside his desk. No matter how high the quality of the sketch paper it's still paper, yet. When Bobby had them framed he was asked who the artist was and if they could view more of his work. Though rough and primitive the drawings were incredibly detailed, the use of light and shadow gave them depth and texture and created a sense of mood and tone. Each picture had a feel, they emoted he was told. Bobby just grinned and said the artist was a very private person. Oh, he would have fun with this.

* * *

*** 'O brave new world that has such people in it' Shakespeare, "The Tempest"**

**** There are Riverboat tours up and down the Mississippi however none with boats large enough to have pools and Vegas style shows.**


	16. Chapter 16 Let The Games Begin

**Sam Dean and Supernatural are not mine, and thus I lament.**

**I named Billy Cade after a character the actor portrayed in "First Wave, (1998 to 2001) a show about two men, an X thief on the run from the law and and a highly intelligent computer geek, who know the truth and are traveling the by ways of America checking out strange occurrences while trying to save the world. Sound familiar? And this was filmed in Vancouver too.  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 16**

**LET THE GAMES BEGIN**

Ellen and Jo asked him to drop by saying they had something to give him. It was on the way and he had a lot of time to get to Palo Alto so he took the opportunity to spend a little time reconnecting at the roadhouse. Besides he wanted makeup tips. He had been in touch with one of the company's Doctor Foss suggested. His skin tones were matched and he was shown how to use them but he wasn't doing very well. Dean hopped on highway 83 right after breakfast, was at the roadhouse well before lunch and was greeted with applause.

"Look at you." Ellen cheered as he approached the bar, "No cane, walking tall." Then as he sat down and asked for a coffee she noted the scares barely visible under makeup and said, "Really looking good." but as she poured his coffee she gave his hair a motherly tousle, "But that's looking rough."

"I used to kept it clean and tidy but I heard somewhere that girls like hair they can get their hands into." Dean teased back.

"Very true." Ellen agreed giving his hair another fuss, "Wow that's soft and has it ever gone blond. I now girls who would kill for your hair."

"Oh thanks just what every guy wants to hear." Dean growled and Ellen laughed.

"I have something for you." she announced pouring his coffee.

Ellen asked him to bring his most often used weapons into the kitchen to show him a gift inspired by "The Mummy". Rick O'Connell dropped a bag in front of Evelyn opened it and it rolled out to a mat of pockets holding various weapons. Ellen opened a similar looking bag made of waterproofed leather and began fitting in his weapons. It even included pockets for ammunition, for rosaries, and one for a bottle of holy water. She said Bill used to complain about carrying his arsenal in a duffel bag. No matter how well he tried to organise his weapons he always ended up fishing around for what he wanted. She made this for him after watching the movie and now she was presenting it to Dean.

"Are you sure you don't want it as a keepsake?" Dean asked.

"I have more important mementos of Bill." Ellen smiled reassuringly, "This should be used by a hunter."

"I'll take good care of it." He promised.

"Good, you can take care of this too." Ellen added, "I found this in a craft and antique market last week. The woman said it belonged to her great grandmother. It's old enough but she let it go way to cheep. Besides it looks more like something that belonged to an apothecary. And don't even think of offering to pay for it, I'll get really insulted."

She dropped a fair sized case that resembled an old doctors bag beside the weapon's bag. It opened to reveal tins for herbs, pockets for bottles and even a spot for his mortar and pestle. He shook his head in utter amazement. He hated to look a gift horse in the mouth but the mystery plagued him and he had to ask. Why?

"I'm grateful, you have no idea how much, but this is a lot for a guy you just met." Dean tried not to offend her, "All the hunters that come through here needing help and I was a real dick sometimes. Why are you going beyond the call for me?"

"Because I owe you." Ellen said looking very awkward.

"You just met me."

Ellen took Dean back to the bar and sat him down before answering but before she could they were joined by Jo. There was an expression of self reproach on Ellen's face that Dean felt did not belong there and it appeared he was the cause. He would have rather kept this just between the two of them, a private matter to be resolved and apologised for. Jo's presence will make it that much more difficult to express his regrets for whatever he did to upset her.

"Dean I know you're not very comfortable with this subject but here it is." Ellen forged ahead, "John would never bring you boys around because he knew we wouldn't approve of what he was doing and I'm not just talking about hitting you, although that's damned serious. Leaving you along for weeks and months at a time when you were just boys. Dean do you realized he would have been sent to jail if he'd been caught doing that? There's a reason those things are against the law. You've been hurt by him in ways you don't even know. We should have been paying attention …"

"You know you're right. I'm not comfortable with this." Dean interrupted, forcing himself to look at Ellen and Jo.

Keeping his breathing even was a trial. He was feeling a strange mix of anger and shame that was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"The fact is I never considered myself abused." Dean grouched both embarrassed and offended, "Maybe other people would agree with you but not me. If this stuff is about some debt you think you owe me than I wish you'd take it back." Dean held up the bags.

Ellen gave her head an emphatic shake, "Those were gifts from the heart. Don't you insult me." she said a little quiver in her voice, "Like I told Sam you're like family."

"Then as a present from family thank you a lot." Dean accepted, then added heasitently, "I really mean that. Thank you." and left in obvious discomfort.

Jo waited until he was well out of sight before asking, "What's his problem."

"I'm not sure," Ellen mused, "Could be pride, or he's convinced he doesn't deserve anything thing from anybody or he just doesn't know how to deal with honest feelings. Abused people often have those types of problems I'm told."

"Or all of the above." Jo offered.

"Or all of the above." Ellen agreed.

Jo gave Dean some time to pull himself together before dragging him to see a friend at the Sutherland playhouse theater. She made him scrub the makeup off his face and was kind enough not to say anything when he covered his scars with a gauze pad. She had preformed in a number of plays at the theater and enjoyed it though she admitted she wouldn't want to make a career of the stage. There she made a friend, Devlin, who did the makeup for many of the shows. He loved the pageantry and magic of the theater and might have become a professional actor if he didn't have paralyzing stage fright. But he was a great makeup artist. The theater was a small affair sandwiched between a little tavern and a book store, rather appropriate Dean thought. Jo's friend was waiting for them in one of the dressing rooms. He was tall, almost as tall as Dean, and slender but developed not skinny. His hazel eyes lit up when they came into the room and he gave his streaked light brown hair a little tousle as he rose. His generous mouth curled up in a mischievous smile. Jo yanked Dean's jacket off him and informed her friend she brought him a victim. He laughed, whether at Jo's remark or Dean's alarm could not be said.

"You brought me candy." Devlin disagreed with Jo.

"Excuse me." Dean asked his eyebrows going up.

"You look absolutely delicious." Devlin saw no reason to beat around the bush.

"Well you're a handsome devil yourself but I don't swing that way." Dean returned using the line for the first time on someone who was making overtures rather than as a dodge.

"What a waste." Devlin heaved a deep sigh.

"I wouldn't say that." Dean returned unsure if he was being complimented or insulted.

"Why waste?" Jo demanded.

Devlin got into Dean's personal space and using all his most suggestive and seductive expressions as he spoke, said, "No woman could ever appreciate that magnificent body of yours like a man. And they don't know how to make it sing the way a man can." He leaned into Dean whispering in his ear, "The best blow job you ever had, not even close honey. A man knows all the right moves, especially this man."

Dean loved having sex with women. He loved touching woman, exploring their bodies and making them scream in ecstasy. He met many women that liked to play and it was always fun. Sometimes he ran into a woman interested in making him scream in ecstasy. But a women who succeeded, none yet. A shiver ran down Dean's spine startling him.

"Come on dude, you're freaking me out with this peek into your private business." Dean covered his nervous reaction. "Besides you may not think I'm so delicious." Dean added and took off the bandage of his face.

Devlin stumbled back a step mortified.

"Perfection desecrated." He declared a cry in his voice. "What animal did this."

"It was…" Jo began.

Dean held up his hand to her, "A critic. The plastic surgeon that rebuilt my face was genus and it's healed a lot but it'll be years before the scares fade completely. In the mean time I'd like to go in public without scaring children. Jo tells me you can teach me how to use this stuff better than I have been."

Dean held up a shaving kit full of makeup. Devlin rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismay. He took the bag in two fingers holding it as if it was contaminated and dropped it on a table. He rummaged through a big blue suitcase sized bag and came out with a makeup pack. Devlin quickly emptied Dean's kit into the slots and pouches of the pack, added makeup brushes and sponges then folded the two leaves over and zippered it up.

"Neat simple and easy to carry." He announced then opened it again, "Everything is right there at your fingertips no digging around in a desperate search. Now lets see what we have. Foundation three shades," He took Dean by the chin and studied his face, "The other lamp please Jo. Thank you. Have you been hiding from the sun?" Dean shook his head no, "But you use a lot of sun block, smart man."

"Actually I just don't tan." Dean admitted.

"Are you trying to tell me that peaches and cream is natural?" Devlin grew wide eyed.

No it was one of his preparations but he wasn't going to tell Devlin that. The makeup artist didn't pursue the matter but went through the supplies Dean had purchased and was for the most part impressed. Two of the foundations were good, the darker one unnecessary if Dean didn't tan, one of the cream blushes for blending was perhaps a little orange but the others were good and the powder was perfect. The makeup remover and cleanser was excellent as was the moisturiser and it must be used because the skin will dry up and not heal properly and Dean's perfect face would be permanently marred. The concealer was one Devlin wasn't familiar with so he was withholding judgment.

"Before we start can I ask, was this some sort of bar room fight or did someone set out to trash your gorgeous face?"

"No, I don't think he." Dean started to deny everything out of reflex then realised he didn't know, "It's complicated." Dean sighed deciding it was the most diplomatic response.

"The world's just full of assholes isn't it." Devlin said deducing he received his answer and turned Dean to face the mirror.

It still made his heart skip a beat but Dean was hiding it better now.

"I'll apply the makeup from the same angle that you would with you watching. I'll tell you what I'm doing step by step. We'll do it over and over as often as it takes till you can do it all perfectly, alone. By the time we're through no one will know the difference."

"You really think you can hide all this?" Dean asked.

"Can you tell were the gay bashers carved me up?" Devlin asked.

Dean swung around and looked at him. Amazing, he had no idea. He studied the young man inch by inch until he found the spot that was just a little shadowed, a little powdery, not quite like the rest. Devlin saw him zero in and lost his confident smile. Jo frowned thinking Dean could have faked it. Show off.

"You're good." Devlin sighed not hiding his distress well, "Most people can't find it at all much less that fast."

"Most people aren't trained to do that. I am." Dean grinned confident that he was better than most at finding such things, "It's my job to study people, find anything out of place, including makeup covering a scar, tattoo or a bruise." Devlin's eyes grew wide his expression intrigued, "I'm a private detective." Dean fell back on what was becoming old reliable.

"Well detective please face the mirror and we, oh, this hair so soft, gorgeous, love the colour, but needs styling."

"Please feel free." Jo piped up.

"Oh may I." Devlin asked so please.

"Do you mind." Dean snarled at Jo.

Devlin kept running his fingers through Dean's hair, "You must admit this needs work."

"I'm not interested in some fancy all over the place cut or Mohawk or something." Dean surrendered with a groan, "I just, … I'm your basic blue collar kind of guy. A simple cut that will hide the scar on my head will do just fine.."

"Have no fear." Devlin grinned and pulled out a set of combs and pair of scissors from his bag.

"Do you own a salon or something." Dean asked marvelling over his bottomless bag of everything.

"Oh lord no. I worked in one listening to a bunch of middle aged woman complaining about their varicose veins and cheating husbands only long enough to put myself though school." Devlin laughed. "I'm a pharmacist. Now I listen to their endless tales of suffering. At least I can tell which ones are really sick and which are hypochondriacs."

Devlin kept Dean grinning through the entire hair cut which wasn't long. He didn't trim a great deal which Dean found disappointing. He wasn't used to all this long hair.

"That's it, that's all your taking off?"

"Why would you want to take off this beautiful hair. My God the colour. People would pay small fortunes to get this out of a bottle." Devlin replied, " And fail."

"What? It's just kind of a dark blond."

"Platinum or beach boy blond is so last decade. This has personality, while still being Greek classic. Now a little product. Always use matte pomades." Devlin dipped into his bag again. "Now watch how I do this." He crouched a little to give Dean a proper eye level instruction. "First work it through at the root and tease it just a little, then up and back all through your hair, even the back. Your hair is fine, you need to give it a little body. Tease it at the roots all around, now pull it. Card with your fingers and pull it back on the top at the sides and tousle a little. You don't want it too neat." As he instructed Devlin guided Dean's hands showing him how to do it himself to hide the sins. Part of the bangs at the top were pulled forward, sloppily twisted to the side and feathered out, then a few strands at the side to further the tousled look. "Maybe a few more over the forehead. Even the concealer won't hide that. Toss your head give it a little, shake. Let's see. Perfect."

"Dean that is hot, really hot." Jo nodded

"I might have to go jerk off in the bathroom." Devlin drooled.

"Oh man don't tell me something like that." Dean complained and Jo and Devlin laughed. Dean thought the hair was a lot of work but he wanted the scars hidden so he'd have to live with it, "The face. Can we just do the face. I'm feeling naked here."

"In my dreams." Devlin had to, just one more time. "And my fantasies. You should see my fantasies."

"Will you keep it to yourself." Dean growled as Jo became hysterical with laughter.

True to his word Devlin coached Dean reapplying the makeup as often as it took for him to be able to put it on without any help. Dean had never met anyone so patient in his entire life. At least not so patient with him. In the parking lot they said goodbye and Dean watched the eccentric pharmacist and part time makeup artist head for his car.

"I thought gays like that were only in the movies." Dean told Jo.

"Most you can't tell from any other guy but there are a few Devlin's here and there." Jo said with a giggle, "We've been known to sit in bars and boy watch together. Then a couple of slimes carved an F in his face and he's been nervous about going out anywhere other than his favourite gay bar where I kind of stand out."

Jo's story only made the idea he'd pushed aside as stupidly dangerous start nagging him again. Dean kept telling himself 'don't do it don't do it' then gave in and called Devlin back. Dean opened his trunk and pulled out one of the little bottles he put in the apothecary and handed it to Devlin.

"Apply it to your scar very carefully for twelve weeks, that's twelve weeks only. Not twelve and a half or even twelve weeks plus one day for good measure. Twelve weeks only. Any more and you'll grow big ugly tumours on your face." Dean warned him.

"I'm not sure I get it." Devlin just stared at the bottle.

"You saw the scar on my head?" Dean asked of the thick wide meandering snake on his scalp and when Devlin nodded Dean added, "I got that at the same time as I got these on my face. Notice a difference?"

"What? You have some miracle treatment for scares." Devlin stammered in a state of shock.

Dean went to the car, pulled out the Codex and showed Devlin the sketch of the lady who used the ointment for more than a dozen weeks.

"This is very powerful stuff that can cause a lot of damage if you don't use it right. The potential for accidents and abuse …. Well I don't want to think about it." Dean voiced his concerns again, "You're scar is already faded a lot and what I gave you should make them just about disappear. But I warn you, tell no one about it. No one or I get nasty on your ass in a way you won't like."

Devlin held the little bottle to his chest like it was treasure expressing his gratitude profoundly all the way to his car. Dean just smiled and waved before getting into the Impala. He rested his head on the back of the car seat and wondered at what point he'd lost his mind. He was asking for trouble. This guy who could end up going to the press. Damn it he's a pharmacist. Dean felt a big smooch on his cheek.

"You're a good man Dean Winchester." Jo smiled at him.

"Just make sure he doesn't try to sell it to a drug company or go to the press or something. Okay?" He asked.

"Don't worry, I got your back."

"And make sure he stops using it after twelve weeks. I don't want to be responsible for anyone destroying their face."

"I'll take care of it Dean, trust me." Jo insisted gently.

Trust Jo? Any and every day. Dean wished he could make her understand, he knew he could and just how well he knew. He also wished he could make it up to Ellen for making her feel bad about her gifts. She wasn't being the least unkind and he had practically made her cry. Something he was sure wasn't easy. Once he was over his embarrassment and unjustified anger Dean plummeted into guilt over it.

"Do you have a favourite restaurant or club?" Dean asked.

"Mom loves this seafood place in Lincoln, why?"

"Cause I'm going to take you two out for the best dinner and whatever else before I leave, that's why." Dean fell back on the only thing he could think of besides 'dimonds are a girls best friend'.

"Do you own a suit and tie?" Jo asked, "This place of mom's is real upscale. I figure with all the luck you've had lately you can afford it."

"What do you know about my luck?" Dean grinned but was worried, it wasn't like Bobby to gossip.

"A friend of ours Ash, set up an account for you in some islands." Jo explained, "You've got to be doing really well for that."

"Ash?" Dean asked, could it be?

"He's this genius who showed up a few months ago." Jo explained, "Helps out hunters with all kinds of stuff."

"Then we'll take him too." Dean jumped at the opportunity to meet Ash, "But I'll have to pick up a suit somewhere. I suppose I should have a decent suit."

It was Sam who insisted on the suit and tie routine. With John flashing the badge it was never hard to convince anyone they were cops but without the authoritative older Winchester posturing for the locals it had become difficult and the wardrobe helped. He had a sports jacket with a matching pair of dark pants for cop routines but maybe a suit for the FBI act might not be a bad idea. Dean had never gone shopping with a woman before so he didn't hesitate in accepting Jo and Ellen's offer of help. That was his first mistake. He then admitted he knew little about formal wear which was his second mistake. And his third mistake was admitting that at the present time money was not an issue when the sales girl asked what price range he had in mind. Who knew that a little formal wear shop in a small city would carry designer suits. Everyone but Dean who'd never been in one before.

Dean was usually much better at standing up to anyone including woman. Especially women who were pressuring him about personal matters. But this was Jo and Ellen who were family and Dean always had a weakness for family. That they died too soon fighting an evil he had helped loose on the world muddied the issue with a healthy does of guilt. He may never be able to tell them what they meant to him, how he had grieved for them but, though all the fussing and pushing was grating on him, saying no to something they wanted so badly might make a little amends. Very little but some. A designer suit loaded down with accessories. What was he going to do with a three piece suit?

Dean groaned when Ash came out of his room in a sports jacket and tie with black jeans. 'This guy's no genius.' Dean laughed when introduced to the mulletted Ash as he and before, 'He's a Lenard Skynard roadie' and Ash responded as before with 'I like you' starting things off right. Dean would have been so much more comfortable dressed casually as well but at least Ellen and Jo were happy not to mention dressed to the nines and absolutely gorgeous. Jo's slinky spaghetti strapped cocktail dress was not overtly sexy but highly suggestive in all the right ways, tempting one to forget her age. Dean couldn't help reflecting on lost opportunities of the past.

All the way to the restaurant Dean reminded himself that he was not good for Jo and that Ellen would probably kill him anyway. The bow tied waiters and refined atmosphere could have made it a painful night for Dean however the people you're with make all the difference in the world. Ellen, Jo and Ash made the painfully refined restaurant and bow tied waiter fade into the background. The excellent dinner was a definite bonus and the nightclub Ellen brought them to was a perfect end to the evening. When Dean mentioned he was a little suprised that Ellen had a taste for this kind of high class night life she responded, once a year was fun but more than that and the joke would wear thin.

Dean didn't know when he would get back in this area or how long it would take to re-establish the close trusting bond he had with these friends. Enjoying a night of laughs he was sure was a good start and more important, he was able to do something he never did for them before. Show his regard and appreciation for all they had done for him in this time and the last.

* * *

Sam would never forget the first day he came to Stanford. He felt like he had just stepped onto an alien planet but it wasn't the building or the grounds that made it so other worldly. As he crisscrossed the country he'd seen every architectural style old and new. The wonder in the buildings was their function. The halls of academia, they were so far removed from anything he'd ever experience or ever thought he'd experience. Sam had to sit on a bench and let his new reality sink in. He watched students rushing from building to building orienting themselves and preparing for the wondrous adventure they were embarking on. They were people of every race colour and creed united by their common goal. This wasn't a struggle for survival it was a quest for knowledge. He was not surrounded by monsters and victims but intellectuals and individuals perusing their future. He was surrounded by ambitions and dreams not nightmares, vengeance and violence. Sam sat for hours on the bench soaking up the new reality in all it's colours textures and smells without loosing one measure of excitement or joy.

It took some time for the shine to wear off. Sam eventually began to realize that some of the intellectuals were in fact thick headed or opinionated and some where nothing more than computer storage devices downloading books. Some of that wondrous mass of moving humanity he watched with such ardent wonder that first day were only there to play football. The fantasy was soon replaced by the reality of racing to classes, long hours at the library and finding the right study groups. Collage life was not the perfect fantasy Sam once had but it was still glorious to him. The world of the supernatural faded into the past and by watching and listening he learned how to live in the normal world on their level.

In spite of Dean's visits Sam was able to reject anything that didn't fit into his new life. Monsters and violence was something far away that would never touch him again. He was safe making a new home and a new life in which his opinion was heard and given consideration not dismissed out of hand and his ambitions were respected not rejected as irrelevant. He was accepted and regarded as an equal. The reality may have had flaws but was everything he wanted.

Sam soon put behind him the awkwardness of his first months, the difficulty of fitting in, of acting like everybody else but then Sam had been trained in the art of hiding in a crowd and assimilating into the back ground. He'd done it so often it was second nature. What was difficult was stepping out of that anonymity and becoming an active student. It is amazing what can be accomplished when one really wants something and Sam was finely perusing something he wanted.

The campus he greeted like a refugee seeking sanctuary became home, comfortable, cozy and warm. Only Dean's occasional visit disrupted the security of his haven. The one positive thing big brother did by descending upon him was reinforce his conviction that this was the life he wanted and bolstered his determination to succeed.

ssssssssssssss

Sam was trying to cling to the dream. The dominion of demons and monsters had infiltrated Stanford. Shadows that he had been ignoring for years became ominous, sounds that had been the natural back ground buzz of life on campus had to be examined for possible threats. He could no longer cocoon himself in his studies for fear of something creeping up on him. Sam could not take anything at face value, any friend could be a threat to him. It was an argument to leave but Dean was against it and Sam wasn't ready to give up all he had struggled so hard to achieve nor was he ready to make Jessica a part of his past. The thought of never seeing her again was simply too painful.

Sam returned to the routine of studies and exams with an affected ease. He smiled and chatted with his friends as he always did, while studying their faces for any sign of change. He kept a wary eye for anyone new and wondered how he would ever get back to where he was last Christmas, before Dean and after his first meeting with Jessica.

By the light of day Sam struggled not to hope he could ever win her back, to just let her go, but seeing her with Brady, laughing and talking the way they once had was breaking his heart. He was a Winchester and as such in the face of the worst pain he could smile and play cavalier but alone in his room Sam grieved. He let himself hate his best friend for being the man his beloved turned to. He could even hate Dean for making him break up with her. Or he could fantasize that Dean was all wrong and the truth would come out soon.

_He would rush to Jessica, tell her how wrong he was and beg her to come back to him. She would forgive him of course and Brady would admit she was happy with Sam and agree to be best man at the wedding because Dean wouldn't be allowed near them ever again._

But the fantasy never lasted. The darkness that had descended on Stanford and sullied his dream was tangible and chilling. It settled on his skin making him shiver driving away all warmth and pecked away at his hope. Finding a news report of a slit throat cast a shadow on his dreaming and slammed him with his new reality.

Blond, brown eyes, low rise jeans and a leather jacket. He searched police bulletins and scoured the campus for any sign of the girl but found none. That didn't mean she wasn't there but at least she wasn't close. Every day Sam scoured the Internet for any other bodies with sliced jugulars looking for the pattern Dean warned him about but as days became weeks and none were found Sam lowered his state of readiness to DEP COM 2 and maintained his normal routine. He had until November 2, 2005, a full year, before the demons would destroy his life and he would only have that year if he didn't force their hand. Something else he and Dean disagreed on. Sam was not reckless by nature but waiting for that viper to strike was eating away at his gut and sucking all the joy out of his life.

"_You're just one part of a big plan, Sam. A plan that's been in the works for decades and longer." Dean had argued against affirmative action, "They're not going to rearrange their schedule for you. They'll just replace you with a wheel that isn't squeaking. Something like this they're going to have a back up."_

"_How is that a bad thing?" Sam asked encouraged by Dean's predictions, "I'd be out of it back to my normal life. I might even get Jessica back."_

"_How are you going to do that with a slit throat?" Dean asked, "What you think they'll let you walk away? We're talking demons Sam."_

"_Yah, maybe." Sam mumbled._

"_No maybe Sam." Dean raised his voice, "They have no conscience, no mercy, and have huge egos that won't be amused by you gumming up the works. They'll cut you down and dump you in a ditch just for the hell of it." _

Dean wouldn't let it go until Sam promised not to do anything without calling him first. 'What could we do? We had no idea what the great plan was so how can we possibly force their hand.' Dean did have a good point, he couldn't go back to his normal life if he was dead in a ditch. There was not left but to go about his business as usual and remain vigilant.

He curled up in his bed catching a little cat nap before an exam. He'd been up most of the night with the study group and wanted a little refresher before jumping into the breach. To combat the stress he again began to dream of announcing to Jessica that the family strife was over and begging her to forgive him. It was a beautiful dream but only a dream like a whimsy about winning a million dollar lottery. One body was all it took to make terminal his dieing hope

_Perhaps the demon just breezed into town to check on him then continued on possibly following dad who had checked on him as Dean said he did? Yes, maybe it wasn't there at all. The problem with being a skilled liar was on occasion he would even lie to himself._

Alone he would dream but in the light of day Jessica's budding new romance with Brady was further insurance against her being killed for the crime of loving him and being loved in return. He couldn't strike out at the demons directly by he could take action to protect Jessica. To drive the message home, after his exam, Sam called on Brady who was crashing in Jim Belmont's dorm room and invited them out for a drink suggesting they pick up Jessica along the way. They took a large booth at the campus pub 'The Underground' where Sam worked part time. He bought everyone a round and offered a toast to a successful end to an eventful year. Few things can attract people like voices raise in cheer and soon the table of third year students was a crowd of friends celebrating achievements, friendships and anything else they could think of. Sam offered a toast to Jessica and Brady, two of his best friends and hoped they would have a long and happy future. The look of relief on Brady's face made Sam happy he did it, though he was surprised Brady bought his act.

_How could Brady be such a close friend and not know how I really feel. I've told him often enough while we were first dating how crazy I am about her. Isn't there an unwritten law that you never date you're best friend's ex girlfriend or something? Brady is being a complete jerk and doesn't deserve my blessing._

Sam ranted to himself and got it out of his system, at least for now, and kept his smile in place.

"Anyone have any more exams?" Tom Cochran asked.

"One more." Sam admitted.

"Then what?" Brady asked, "Do you have anything lined up for the summer?"

"Working with my brother." Sam said with a hint of regret.

"Wow, you a bounty hunter. Hard to imagine buddy." Brady said with a shake of his head.

"Bounty hunter, you're kidding right?" Jim asked.

"He's a private detective. We find missing persons and other things like that." Sam felt the need to soften the perception.

"Did you hear about the dog party at the ABP's. Rachelle Buchannan invited Sam's brother Dean." Chad Crenshaw announced much to Sam's horror, "I thought everyone on campus heard about that."

Sam could imagine a hundred different horrible deaths for big mouth Chad and sharing a room with him made it all too tempting.

"I can't believe there are people juvenile enough to have a dog party, even those obnoxious ABP's." Laura Kramer sniffed, "I gather he doesn't look much like you, Sam."

"No Dean doesn't look like Sam, he's more Hollywood good looking." Brady snarked, "Didn't one of the sorority girls tell you they invited a bunch of rejects to a party." Brady asked Jessica.

"That's right." Jessica recalled, "Only she said working class macho jerks. Her story was one of them threatened Eliot Carmichael with a gun them sucker punched him."

"Dean didn't threaten anyone with a gun." Sam hurried to do damage control while wondering where he could get a bucket of army ants and some honey for Chad, "And it was the Greek that attacked Dean from behind."

"And then he beat the shit out of him literally." Chad chimed in laughing with glee, "Mr. All State Karate champion Eliot Carmichael ended up with a load in his shorts."

"Dean kicked him once. Just once cause he was pissed. The guy kicked my brother in the back of the head." Sam hurried to Dean's defence, and thought maybe and ant hill would do.

They all stared in stunned silence until Billy Cade cleared his throat. Billy was the only none third year in the group tonight. He was a handsome man in his early thirties with compelling blue eyes. He worked in the administration building and took classes when he had the time and money. He was well known on campus but his growing interest in their little group made him a person of interest to Sam. That his interest seemed to begin and end with Laura made him less suspicious. Laura wasn't a great beauty. Her hair was too orange and a little frizzy and she was painfully short, barely five feet tall with a funny little nose and a round rather than oval face. But she was brilliant, funny, strong of character and full of life. Her whole face lit up when she smiled and her laugh was positively musical. Sam dated her several times until they discovered they made better friends than romantic interests. Some secret part of him always regretted it hadn't worked between them even when Jessica filled that empty part of his heart to overflowing. Laura was special and Bill had better be monumentally good to her or he would discover how dangerous an enraged hunter could be.

"One kick and Carmichael crapped his pants?" Billy asked even more amazed, "That must have been some kick. Are you guys related to Steven Segal " he said what everyone was thinking.

"No we're the son's of an ex marine." Sam sighed thinking I did it again, "There's a trick to what Dean did. I could never pull it off but then I'm not very motivated."

"To bad, I wouldn't mind learning that." Laura said with a laugh.

"Any reason I should know about?" Billy asked and Laura wrinkled her little nose at him.

"From what little I've heard Dean's a real character." Jessica giggled, "Sam you've got to invite him to the spring beach bash. Would he be up for that."

"I don't think so. Dean's making plans for a vacation." Sam answered.

This would be the first spring bash Sam missed. There would be drinking, dancing and skinny dipping and with Brady in town and hand in hand with Jessica, Sam would not be able to face it. He would miss one last laugh with Laura and letting her try to teach him to dance again. It was a hopeless cause but always fun and funny. Zack and Becky would be there, and he wanted to meet her new boyfriend. She was a sweet young lady in her first year and pretty as a china doll who attracted boys like bees to honey. After the crushing news about Ricky's death in New Orleans she hibernated for a month and almost blew all her classes but she was resilient, pulled herself together and was starting to live again. She even found happiness with a new steady date. Paul wanted Sam's opinion on him. Big brother wasn't fond of jocks and this guy was a star receiver. But if Dean couldn't pick him up before the bash he would fly out to meet him. A whole evening of making merry with his friends while studying them for signs of possession and putting on a happy front while his best friend romanced the love of his life was something he just couldn't do.

The little gathering said their goodbyes as they filed out of the pub and went their separate ways. As Sam headed for his dorm with Chad in tow he felt the creeping up his back sensation of someone watching him. Sam pasted a casual smile on his face and glanced over his shoulder with the intention of waving at whoever it was in the hopes they would think it was just happen chance that he looked back. The façade was unnecessary. Whoever it was, was quicker than him and that was a discomforting thought.

Maybe it wasn't one of his friends. Maybe it was someone else walking along the street, but there wasn't a soul in sight. Did that matter for a demon? Couldn't one be larking in some corner a smoky essence unseen by anyone? Sam covertly checked every shadow in rout to the dorm then salted the door and window.

Chad made the mistake of disturbing the salt line and not fixing it only to discover just how ardent Sam was about this superstition. Until that moment Sam had been the least intrusive roommate he ever had. He ghosted in and out of the room, always polite, always wore his head phone when listening to music and when studying late at night was careful to keep the light low. What more could a guy ask for in a roommate. Well he was too big to borrow cloths from and he left his socks lying around sometimes but Chad had known worse. But when Sam gave him a lecture about the salt line and even threw salt at him Chad was spooked. Tonight Sam drew strange symbols on the door frame before closing the door and spreading a line of salt across it. At least Sam was unique when he went strange and had the good grace to wait until May to do it. As quirks went Sam's were easier to life with than the Goth he roomed with last year who hung the most morbid posters all over the wall and listened to depressing music. Everything he did was depressing. Then there was his roommate during freshman year who refused to ware cloths in the room. Come to think of it, he could deal with salt and symbols in May.

sssssssssss

Sam managed to focus on his final exam but once it was over he went straight to his room and packed. He had has his fill of smiling at all his friends while trying to decide whether or not they were demons and he sure as hell didn't want to watch Brady and Jessica together. He wanted to loose himself in a vacation on a riverboat. Sam was ready and waiting when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala outside his window and he wasn't the least amazed when Dean climbed out of the car and ambled up to the front door without a cane or any other aid. Dean down and out for long, never. Although Sam had planned to fly to Sioux Falls he preferred this option. Being confined to the car without any distractions would give them a change to bond, to reconnect without the encumbrance of pain and physical limitations that so grated on Dean's disposition. Sam threw the unopened letter from the administration office into his back pack and was finished his double check of the room by the time Dean's knock sounded on the door. Much to Sam's surprise Dean didn't resist his worm embrace, he even returned it and Sam dearly needed the reassurance. Maybe after a couple of months away he would have the strength to put in another year but first he had to ask.

"Dean, you're face? It's amazing." Sam marvelled then reached to touch it and frowned when Dean pulled away.

"It takes a while to get the makeup on dude, don't mess it up." Dean warned.

"Makeup?" Sam asked and looked closer.

Yes, he could see it know. The colour blending was almost perfect but the texture was wrong. The makeup job would stand up to casual scrutiny but not a trained eye.

"I don't know what to say Dean, I'm sorry. " Sam began unsure of how to express himself at such a time. What do you say to a brother who's been mutilated by your father.

"Hey, don't little brother. There's nothing to say." Dean stopped him, "Any stops to make before we leave?"

"Nope, I just want to get out of here." He tossed a bag at Dean, "Lets hit the road."

"Slow down dude, I just got off it." Dean grinned, "I want food."

"Sure, I know a place that makes the best fresh cut fries in the state." Sam suggested, "Good bacon cheese burgers too."

"Great, you still like cheese burgers?" Dean asked as he hurried after Sam.

"Sure, but they also have a salad with spiced chicken that's really good."

"Salad?" Dean asked wondering where Sam's change in taste came from, "When did you develop this thing for salads.

"There's this place on campus Jess and I used to go to all the time." Sam sighed, "I still go there sometimes. Soup, sandwiches and salad's about all they have. Jess loves soup and salad for lunch."

'Knew it.' "And you just love those salads now too."

"Sometimes." Sam admitted as he tossed his bags in the trunk, "What's that?" he pointed to the apothecary bag.

"A present from Ellen. It's an old fashion pharmaceutical bag." Dean answered and slammed the trunk closed.

Sam would have plenty of time to make jokes about it later. Dean was hungry. They climbed into the car. Dean could see Sam visibly begin to relax as they headed off campus. It was odd really, Dean would have expected regret and long lingering looks not gradual ease.

"Exams all go good?" He asked.

"Yah, I managed to shut my mind off and focus on my papers once the door was shut and the clock started ticking. For the first time in my life I didn't mind the clock."

"Clocks never bothered me. In fact they juiced me up." Dean laughed.

"Yah you were always weird that way." Sam laughed.

"It's not weird I just react well to stress or competition or something like that." Dean fired back with a snort, "So no trouble, no slit throats or strangers?"

"One body a while back but that's all."

"A body, slit throat?" Dean demanded very abruptly and when Sam nodded he added, "And you didn't call me?"

"It was just one and they caught the guy." Sam reacted defensively.

"And cops never make mistakes?" Dean growled.

"I searched the campus and the net for any sign of the girl and she never showed." Sam continued with his defensive posture, "I've been damned careful Dean, now can we just go?"

"Not till I'm sure about this body." Dean refused, "Can you get you're friends together for a beer or something."

"Why, there's no sign of the girl?" Sam wanted to be gone and he didn't want to explain his brother to his friends.

"She's not the only demon on the planet, Sam. We're checking this out!" He ordered.

Sam knew where they'd be that night. Exactly where he didn't want to be. On the beach. He tried to argue that no one new was on campus and no one was behaving out of character but Dean's argument that they learned not to be so blatant from Brady's exorcism rang a little too true. They grabbed burgers, fries and a salad and booked a cabin on the shore within walking distance of the beech where the spring blast would be. By sunset they were ready. They would be relying heavily on Sam for any trap they would have to set but this time there would be no doubt in his mind. Hopefully.

Several bonfires lit up the beach as it did every last Saturday of May. Though booze and bonfires were not legal, experience had taught the authorities that trying to break up the party resulted in greater casualties than letting it run it's course and interrupting the troublemakers in rout to their destinations.

Sam came out of the bathroom to find Dean sticking a weapon in the back of his jeans waist band.

"You can't do that." Sam informed.

"I can't do what?" Dean asked.

"No jeans allowed on the beach." Sam answered with an easy shrug.

"There's no such rule." Dean sniffed.

"There is for the beach bash. No jeans, no pants it's a rule." Sam grinned at him, "You try going like that and you'll get jumped, thrown in the ocean and stripped to you're shorts. Sorry bro, it's shorts or a swimsuit."

"I don't own either, dude." Dean growled, and pulled out a light weight pair of grey sweats and black sleeveless T shirt, "This is as close to beach wear as I get." He announced and tucked the pistol in his waist band.

This could be problematic Sam thought. After a few beers people loose their sense of discretion. Sam took the lead and went straight to his room mate. Chad of course whispered in Sam's ear about that lack of shorts on Dean was going to create a little fun.

"Dean's hiding a leg brace under those sweats but I wouldn't count on it to stop him from making you shit your shorts, buddy." Sam warned knowing it would take him a total of five minutes to spread it around the beach.

The party began at noon and by dusk five people wound up in the water and running around in their shorts but not Dean. It was the funniest thing. Every time someone suggested it the idea was quickly put to rest without Sam or Dean having to raise a finger. Dean was free and unimpeded as he moved about the beach, beer in hand, laughing and chatting up the locals having a high old time. A point that quickly began to annoy Sam. There could be someone there spying on him, soiling the campus and above all threatening Jessica. This wasn't a time for laughing, getting drunk and hitting on girls.

"You're brother sure does get around." Jessica laughed as she and Brady dropped beside Sam's towel.

"He's a party animal." Sam forced a grin.

"There's still something wrong with his leg though." Jess admitted noticing something out of the ordinary in the fall of his sweats, "But his face looks fine."

"Yah, that's one hell of a job on his face. I'll go get him." Sam offered.

Dean was amazed at how well he kept his mind on the job. Surrounded by so many beautifully bikinied bodies was a great distraction and he did veer off track from time to time but the subject of who he was and where he came from always brought Sam to mind. The image of him falling into the pit worked better than a bucket of cold water. Sam's hand on his shoulder wasn't needed regardless of the inviting curves of the subject he was questioning.

"Speaking of Sam this is my little brother." Dean introduced him to Claire.

"Of course Professor Potts criminal psychology class." Claire smiled at Sam.

"Yah, hi, hey, I'm sorry some people want to meet Dean, sorry." Sam apologised to the virtual stranger then in hushed tones demanded of Dean, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a demon, what do you think I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're hitting on girls." Sam growled.

"Of course it does, it's part of my modus operandi." Dean snapped back, "It's how I get information."

"Looks to me like you're having a good time." Sam snarled.

"It's supposed to, and I am having fun." Dean countered becoming aggravated over Sam's attitude, he never let Dean have any fun, "I always have fun with the ladies but it's a real thrill being able to pull this off with my face."

"Will you try to take this just a little serious." Sam growled alarmed by Dean's apparent blasé attitude while wondering what he meant about his face, "These are my friends we're dealing with."

"I'm fucking serious, Sam." Dean growled while keeping a smile on his face, "This isn't just my work, this is what I am. After three years out of the game, you're in no position to tell me how to do it. Now suck it up little brother paste that dimpled smile on your face and introduce me to more of these friends of yours."

It didn't take long for Dean to be reasonably sure neither Jessica nor Brady were possessed and it took even less time to see what Sam saw in the pretty and charming Jessica. Sweet natured, intelligent, and witty what wasn't to like? Sam put up a wonderful front for Jess and Brady but he wasn't fooling Dean. Dean worried that Sam wasn't fooling Jess either. There was something in her eyes when she looked at Sam but it wasn't the passion of a woman in love. Through the course of the evening Dean found he was sensing someone was lying to him rather than thinking it. Feelings flavoured the air and drifted to him in waves, each palatable and distinct. Though there was still a great deal of affection drifting from Jessica to Sam it was tainted with mild anger, great disappointment and painful mistrust. This did not bode well for any hopes Sam had. But she smiled sweetly at Dean and told him of the various versions of what happened at the sorority party. Dean only laughed.

"The guy kicked me in the head when my back was turned." Dean confirmed Sam's version of what happened, "He had it coming. He's lucky I didn't mess up his face or something."

"What you did is so much better." a jovial voice chimed from behind him.

Dean turned to see a small carrot topped girl with bright shiny eyes and a little nose that wrinkled when she grinned. A tall handsome man with short dark hair and piercing blue eyes stood beside her an arm around her waist. Dean didn't need to feel the cold evil that Castiel had discribed to identify the demon. There are some faces you never forget, your first love, your first true friend, the first person who betrays you and the first human being you ever kill. Though Dean had prepared himself for Meg he reacted to her brother as he would have for her. At the sight of him Dean threw up the barrier Castiel had been coaching him to create to block mind reading. It had never been tested in the field, as it were, but he had been having some success in shielding his thoughts from Castiel. Unfortunately anyone trying to probe his mind would be aware of the wall as Dean hadn't developed the ability to fill his mind with misleading images. This wasn't his strong suit. Dean greeted him with a firm handshake and friendly smile as Sam invited them to join the party.

Dean kept his friendly manner in place and listened with apparent interest as Laura explained Eliot would have displayed his wounds with pride while arranging plastic surgery to repair them and told incredible tales of how he came by them. What Dean did she said was perfect.

"Always nice to know your work is appreciated." Dean laughed and kept the conversation going for a little while before slipping off and waiting for Sam to come looking for him.

There was beer, burgers and pizza to be had everywhere and Dean indulged to his hearts content making a good show of being well and normal to convince Sam he was. The moon was high and the shadows long before Dean dropped the party facade and sneaked of with Sam. He was watching the clock as some things were easier to get away with at night however they had a hours of work ahead of them. In some things timing mattered.

"Sam I want you to have Laura get Billy Cade to the cabin?" Dean asked Sam.

"Laura, Billy, I don't get it?" Sam groaned.

"You know the girl who screwed dad? This is her brother." Dean explained, "We may be able to get some information out of him."

"Brother? Demons have brothers?" Sam stammered, it seemed so outrageous.

"Do you know what a demon is?" Dean asked.

"Evil beings from Hell?" Sam mocked.

"Spirits Sam, people who went to Hell and had all the humanity burned out of them." Dean broke the bad news, "These guys went to Hell on the family plan. They were probably totally devoted before they even got there."

"I'll get him up here." Sam promised while trying to process what he just heard.

"Demon's read minds Sam and this guy may be on to me." Dean warned, "It's better if someone who doesn't know what's going on baits him this way. Wait." a smile crossed Dean's face, "Give me an hour then have Laura send him in this general direction."

Laura, why of all the people did the demon chose to use her. Did Billy know he had a weakness for her? Probably. The demons using his friends was one more reason to force their hand. Just spirits from hell? Suddenly the word demon didn't sound quite so threatening. Maybe they could beat this crisis, and faster than originally planned. Sam gave Dean his hour then pulled Laura aside. He told her Dean had been checking into grants and bursaries for him and found a few that Billy might qualify for.

"The cabin at the end, number 13." Sam finished with directions.

"I'll go get him." Laura said grabbing Sam's neck and kissing his cheek, "You're a doll and so's your brother."

"Laura just tell him to meet me there, don't come yourself. Leave the guy his pride." Sam insisted.

"Pride?" Laura asked her hands going to her hips and a smirk, Dean would have been proud of, slipped across her face.

"Laura a guy may admit to being poor but he isn't going to like putting the fact on display in front of his girlfriend." Sam spoke from experience, "Just tell him we have some papers on grants for him, it'll only take a few minutes and he'll appreciate the privacy, okay?"

"Men you must play your little boy games." Laura who knew something of poverty herself laughed, "Fine, I'll tell him and hang back."

ssssssssssss

Male pride was a funny thing Laura knew. Her father suffered from an over abundance of it. Every year he refused to except help from the church at Christmas preferring to put in extra hours at the plant to insure a bountiful holiday for his family. Laura would have to say she never suffered for his pride but he did work himself to an early grave for his families sake. She was grateful that he lived long enough to see his two eldest make it to collage and walked his youngest daughter down the aisle. He was not the cleverest of men or the most talented but he was a good man who did well by his family despite his humble means. Laura would miss seeing the man who taught her so much about the value of hard work, dedication and honesty attend her graduation but he would be there. This she knew and she would light a candle and dedicate the day to him. Sam had reminded her a little of her father, so committed, and Billy to but with Billy there was a spark that was never there with Sam. That chemical something that was so necessary for any relationship to survive. She watched him move into the shadows of the trees feeling a measure of pride and amusement in her men. Sam would always be, a special if not romantic friend.

What was that? It was hard to see but she could have sworn. Laura hurried up the path just to prove to herself she was seeing things hoping to find no evidence of a scuffle but did and precisely were she thought she saw one. She picked up Billy's tennis shoe looked around desperately than rushed back to the beach running literally into Brady.

"Muggers, help me muggers or murder or ….!" Laura began to babble in a panic.

Brady and Jessica tried to calm her and understand what their friend was so terribly distressed about when she suddenly fell silent. She closed her eyes and held herself tight until the hysterics passed.

"What happened hun?" Jessica asked a comforting arm around her friend.

"Billy, two men jumped him." Laura said with amazing calm considering her former state, "He was going up to see Sam and Dean when two men mugged him and carried him off."

"Did you see where?" Brady asked.

"They were going toward the cabins." Laura answered a glimmer of hope coming to her, "Maybe Sam and Dean saw something or at least they can help."

ssssssssssss

Dean waited until Billy was securely tied to the chair over the devil's trap, chalked on the floor, before pulling the bag off his head. He was afraid the wall might have alerted Billy and it had. Billy grabbed Dean by the throat within seconds of saying hello. A splash of holy water disabled him long enough for Sam to pull the bag over Billy's head but they had to beat him with a bat to subdue him. The host definitely had broken ribs and possibly a fractured skull. The sooner the job was done and they took him to the hospital the better but not before they had what they wanted.

"Well hay there Billy, how's the family?" Dean smiled at him.

"Mines great but yours is seriously screwed up." the demon answered as his eyes turned black.

"That's no lie." Dean responded shocking Sam and the demon both, "Your sister did a real number on my dad and you're going to tell me where she is so I can fix that."

"I could give a shit about my sister but I'm not giving her up to help a Winchester." the demon laughed.

Dean responded by throwing a glass of holy water in his face, "You're not helping a Winchester you're helping yourself which is what you demons are all about."

"Go to hell." he snarled at Dean, after screaming in pain as the water sizzled on his face.

"After you." Dean returned and threw another glass in his face.

As Billy cried out banging began at the door. Sam and Dean could hear Brady demanding the door open while Laura called to Billy and Sam telling them to hang on help had arrived.

"I'm calling the police." Jessica's voice could be heard crying over the chaos.

tbc

* * *

***The character of Devlin was based on a pharmacist I used to deliver medication orders for and I assure you the depiction is accurate. He used to refer to a recently married male employee as honey bear.**

**I hope you enjoy this cliff-hanger. Please review and tell me what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17 Supernatural 101

**If I owned Sam, Dean and Supernatural I'd be rich but I don't so I'm not.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 17**

**SUPERNATURAL 101**

"I'm calling the police." Jessica's voice could be heard crying over the chaos.

Sam and Dean rushed to the window to find Brady, Jessica and Laura frantically pounding at the door. The demon began crying for help as one about to be murdered. Brady, Jessica and Laura reacted with increased banging and shouting which, fortunately, caused Jessica to drop her cell pone. As far away as they were from their neighbours eventually someone was bound to notice the uproar.

"Stop them." Dean hissed and grabbed the bag with the devil's trap on it to silence the demon.

Sam nodded and opened the door a crack, while shouting over his shoulder, 'turn down the damned movie' and asked, "What's with you guys?"

But at that moment the demon cried, 'Laura they're going to kill me!" and screamed wildly causing a panic at the door. Brady, Jessica and Laura pushed all at once surprising Sam who stumbled back a step leaving a large enough space for tiny Laura to squeeze in. To her the scene was something out of a bad slasher movie. Sam the dear friend she thought she new guarding the door while his psycho brother tortured and murder her beloved. Dean was standing by a table a cloth bag in one hand a bat in the other. She need see no more. She managed to escape Sam's reaching arm and rushed to Billy who was tied to the chair. Sam was about to grab for her again but Brady and Jessica took advantage of Sam's moment of distraction and heaved at the door putting him off balance. Laura launched a frantic attack on the ropes. Before Sam could pull her to safety the demon gave a mighty pull at the ropes breaking the chair and grabbed the startled Laura round the neck. From the moment Sam opened the door to Billy capturing Laura took no more than thirty seconds.

"Let me out or I kill her." He warned.

At this point the barricading of the door was pointless so Sam stepped back letting Jessica and Brady fall into the room then slammed the door shut. The new comers stared at Billy's solid black eyes and sneering face and froze in bewildered silence.

"Break it now or I break her neck." the demon threatened.

"So kill the bitch, see if I care." Dean sneered right back.

"Dean he's not bluffing!" Sam roared in horror.

"No I'm not but he is." the demon laughed at Dean.

"Billy, you're hurting me." Laura cried, "If you love me..."

"Why would I give a damn about a mousy little meat suit like you?" he laughed, "Only a desperate, self hating, pile of shit could love you. Hey Dean I've got the perfect girl for you. Let me out and you can have her back alive."

Jessica threw open the door, "Go ahead leave. Just let Laura go." she begged stepping aside.

"That's not what he means." Sam said shutting the door again.

"I've seen you before." Brady whispered.

"Tell them!" the demon focused on Brady, "Tell them what I'll do to her if they keep pissing me off!"

The blood drained from Brady's face as he stared at the black eyes and cruel smile. In his minds eye he could see another pair of black eyes and cruel smile striking terror to the heart of someone else but with his his face.

"What are you?" he whispered again.

"Tell them!" the demon roared.

"He likes to hear people scream." Brady stammered.

"Let go of her throat and I'll break the circle." Sam promised.

"No deals." the demon hissed.

"You can't kill her while you're trapped or you'll have nothing to bargain with, so it's deal or stay there." Sam snarled back, "Now let go of her throat. Laura reach out to me."

In the face of her terror Laura had enough presence of mind to do as she was told. Sam moved a little closer and slide his foot under the shower curtain protecting the chalk devil's trap from the water. The demon had his eyes fixed on Sam and his foot. As the foot grew closer to the circle the demon's hand began to slip away from Laura's throat. What did it matter. As soon as the trap was broken they would all be pinned to a wall.

Timing was everything. Sam moved slowly toward the trap as Laura reached out for him but not yet, not yet. One more moment waiting for the signal. NOW! Sam grabbed Laura's wrist as he slid his foot across the line breaking it. He felt a force pushing sending him toward a wall but he held fast to Laura taking her with him. Two shots rang out breaking the force pushing Sam. As he dropped to the floor Sam caught the chalk being thrown to him. Dropping the sawed after firing the two rounds of rock salt Dean landed on the demon and wrestled the cloth bag over Billy's head. Though his power was contained by the devils trap on the bag he was still stronger than any human being. He was fighting for his feet trying to throw Dean off his back. Sam hastily fixed the trap and helped Dean drag the demon back in, both jumping clear as soon as the deed was done.

No one spoke as the demon pulled the bag from his head and roared his outrage. He glared at the three stunned and terrified civilians threatening them with horrible deaths and the massacres of their families if they didn't release him. They just stared in muted silence their wide eyes betraying their shock and disbelief.

"Ah shut up!" Dean ordered throwing a glass of Holy water in his face, turning the threats to shrieks of pain.

"What is that?" Laura asked through tears.

"Just Holy water." Sam answered, poured her a glass from a pitcher and held it out to her but when she only stared at the offered glass he drank it himself as proof, "Holy water. It hurts demons."

"Demon's?" Jessica squeaked.

"Yah demons. Let's get off the floor. Sit down over here." Gently Sam helped his three friends to their feet and guided them over to the beds making them comfortable, "Are you hurt, do you need any first aid or something?" he asked but they remained silent clinging to each other on the bed furthest from the demon and stared visibly shaking, "I'm so sorry, I never wanted to expose you to this."

"Sam, focus here." Dean tried to call Sam back to the work at hand.

"Can't you see they need help." Sam growled.

"So does this host and so does dad." Dean growled back, "They'll wait, smoky here won't."

Sam glared at his brother who threw another glass of water in the demon's face just to get his attention. All business, all hunter, so like dad. This was going to be a long miserable summer, Sam seethed but joined Dean as ordered.

"Now let's get back to the original question, where's your sister?" Dean turned on the demon.

"Your daddy wasn't that stable to begin with." the demon laughed, "And he's a total basket case now. After the way he beat you, why do you care, he never loved you to begin with."

Dean had heard it all before but that didn't stop it from hurting, however the brick wall in his mind would hide the stab of pain from the demon. As long as he kept his smirk firmly in place and that he had learned to do a long time ago. No one would be the wiser.

"You're not going to do the your daddy loved Sammy best routine?" Dean asked with a whine, "Can't you come up with something more original than that?"

"The truth cuts deepest and the truth is your daddy never gave a shit about you." the demon laughed after shaking off the Holy water, "No one ever does, but everybody loves Sammy."

"Your point?" Dean asked while wishing Sam would disagree with it, "On second thought this is boring so forget the point." He changed his mind and threw a glass of water in it's face demanding, "Where's your sister?"

"Why save a father who would sacrifice you for your little brother?" the demon demanded between screams.

"Boring, where's your sister?" Dean asked again after another splash to the face.

"I don't know where the bitch is and I don't care." the demon returned after a scream and a sizzle, "But you do, you care and you care and nobody ever cares back. How pathetic can a human be."

"I'm bored are you bored Sam?" Dean asked.

"I'm amaused by his stupidity but it is wearing thin." Sam admitted.

The pitcher of Holy water now empty Dean picked up the full ice bucket throwing it in the demon's face demanding, "Last chance, where's your sister?"

"Go to hell." It laughed after howling in pain.

"You first. Sam would you care to or shall I?" Dean held his journal out to his brother,

"Be my guest." Sam refused the book.

Dean put down the book and began the _Ritus defaeco:_

"I'll crawl back out of hell and I'll find you Winchester." the demon threatened Dean as he began, "I'll redefine pain for you."

Ego inbero tu immunda phasma quisquis tu exsisto pariter quistibet tui creatura iam appugno hic latro Deus peracc imperium annuo peracc vergo fingo etiam impetus resuirectio et subrior Lominus Jesus Christ, peracc curruo haveo spititus sanctus peracc advenio noster Lominus abrero censura. Ego quoque inbero tu dico ego peracc innuo tui monen etium hour nabeo tui decessio ego iubero tu pareo meus omnis vox. Ego famulus Deus interdico tu noce hec possessio Deus.

_*I command you unclean spirit and all your minions now attacking this servant of God by the power granted by the mysteries of the immaculate conception, the passion, the resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, through the descent of the Holy Spirit, and the coming of our Lord bringing judgement. I command you tell me by some sign your name and the hour of your departure, I a servant of God command you to obey my every word, and forbid you to harm this possession of God._

Jessica let out a cry as Billy after writhing in agony opened his mouth and roared. A great column of black swirling smoke shot out of his mouth and dropped through the floorboards. Both Brady and Laura sat transfixed, as if waiting for something.

"Getting something out if him was a stretch to begin with." Dean sighed and knelt beside Billy checking for injuries, "'He isn't bluffing Dean.' You were kidding right?"

"Well it got his attention off you didn't it?" Sam grumbled, "Go ahead and kill the bitch?"

"Got your attention didn' I." Dean grinned and shook his head, "You are so out of practice." then groaned as he finished his examination of Billy, "Probably fractured scull, definitely cracked ribs. Better get him into the car."

"We should call an ambulance, Dean." Sam insisted.

"Right and you can explain what's going on here cause I won't be here for that."

"Right." Sam sighed, "Dean I think I should stay here."

"Hell yah. You have some explaining to do." Dean agreed.

As gently as possible Sam and Dean put Billy in the back of the Impala and Dean left promising to be back soon. Sam turned to the cabin like a condemned man walking the last mile. This was something he never wanted his friends to know much less see. He would now have to admit that everything he told them about himself, as little as it was, was a lie, admit to living outside the law his whole life and to the violence of his upbringing. Sam sat on the end of the bed waiting for the first question while Jessica and Laura stared at him their chins quivering and Brady just stared.

"Billy, who was …. What was he?" Laura finely asked.

"Billy was possessed by a demon." Sam answered and saw her face even now, scrunch in disbelief, "I do mean a from hell demon, sort a like in the Exorcist but without the pea soup and rotating head. These things don't happen a lot. My dad's been hunting these things all my life and he's run into maybe half a dozen total."

"These things?" Jessica asked.

"Jess, I'm really sorry to have to tell you this but just about everything you ever imagined was hiding under your bed when you were a little girl is real and my dad and brother hunt them." Sam admitted with great regret, "Werewolves, ghosts everything. Except big foot. As far as I know that's a hoax."

"Werewolves?" Jessica asked.

"Yah, werewolves and angry spirits and ghouls and witches. All of it."

"That's so impossible." Laura struggled with disbelief.

"I know how it seems but you saw what happened here." Sam pointed out the obvious.

Sam had seen it before, normal people when faced with the reality of the supernatural world even after suffering it's deadly effects still fought to hold on to their safe rational beliefs rather than facing the horrors of the reality of the paranormal. They spoke quietly for over an hour Sam patiently answering their questions with as much detail as possible without being overly graphic and gruesome. When Dean returned announcing he'd successfully dropped Brady off at an ER they were still sitting where he'd left them. There barely acknowledged his presents. 'This does not look good,' he thought.

"This is why you stopped seeing me isn't it?" Jessica asked, "This is what you were protecting me from."

"Partly." Sam admitted.

"Don't do it Sam." Dean muttered as he stood at the door fearing Sam would forget himself and try to win her back.

"You didn't think I had a right to know?" Jessica asked.

"I know I had a right to know I was dating a demon." Laura added.

Having pulled herself together Laura rose from the bed and walked over to the shower curtain and the symbol underneath. The complex circles, lines and symbols only served to reinforce the vile reality that she had made love to a creature from hell and her stomach began to twist and turn.

"I had a right to know." she yelled at Sam.

"I'm sorry I didn't know, Laura." Sam apologised, "I would have done something if I knew."

"How long?" she cried, "How long was he like that?"

"I'm sorry I don't know." Sam cried tears forming in his eyes, "God I wish I knew but I don't. I'm so sorry."

"Probably after you started dating." Dean said as he entered the room and went straight for a beer, "Anyone else care for one?"

"Oh God yes." Jessica answered and accepted the offering gratefully and Sam came for one as well.

"How could 'I' not know!" Laura demanded fighting frantically for that self control she always prided herself in.

"When a demon possesses someone they have access to all the hosts memories. He knew everything about Billy Cade and your relationship." Dean explained in a quiet calming tone and a little to matter-of-factly for Sam's taste, "Demons can also read minds so it wasn't hard for him to move that relationship along."

"But why?" Laura asked with wide beseeching eyes.

"I don't know. Something's brewing I just don't know what it is yet." Dean played ignorant, "Hunters like my dad and I have been feeling something, watching for signs for a while now and that's all we can do. Watch the signs and keep up the fight."

"Brewing?" Laura walked slowly up to him her manner growing stronger, more determined, "Coming? When, next month, next year. Give me something Dean."

"Demons don't work on our time sequels." Dean said with a shake of his head and pulled out a beer for her, "Coming could be years, decades, even centuries. They don't have to worry about growing old and dieing before the big game." He offered her the beer and she accepted it.

"But the man who first smiled at me and asked for my phone number was Billy Cade not a demon?" Laura asked for clarification.

"I'd give odds on it and I gamble for a living." Dean grinned at her, "The demon would be looking to connect with someone close to Sam but not close enough that he would notice any personality change. They already made that mistake once."

"Why Sam?" Jessica asked.

"We don't know. Sam's just one of many all over this country being watched." Dean added a touch of bewilderment to his voice, "Maybe someone they hope to use or manipulate at some time. We just don't know enough yet. Allow me to repeat. Yet."

"How do you live … deal with this day in and day out?" Jessica asked them both.

"It's no way to live." Sam answered right away, his eyes wide and wet with his sincerity, "It's violent and brutal and lonely. You're always in danger and drowning in blood and pain. Even if you're not looking in the face of pure evil you always know it's just out side your door, not to mention the fact that it sometimes hunts you. And hunting is not a salaried occupation, so we lied and stole and cheated to survive. I could never reconcile with being a criminal. All I ever wanted was to escape it." he said his shame and sorrow on full public view, "I'm so sorry for what we put you through here tonight and for dumping this at your feet. For introducing you to this world."

"Speak for yourself geek boy. I'm not one damned bit sorry." Dean snapped his temper rising.

"Damn it Dean we showed them a world of horror they will never be able to forget." Sam snarled, "How could you wish that on my friends?"

Dean threw his beer bottle into the sink shattering it to pieces silencing Sam. He watched as Dean paced a moment then pulled another bottle out of the fridge and chugalugged half of it in a matter of seconds. Dean had thought he was doing so much better in controlling his temper. Though he snapped at Bobby from time to time he hadn't had a major explosion in months but at that moment he wanted to throttle Sam. Could it be that his months of calm were do to a lack of temper triggers rather than any progress on anger management? Sam's attitudes were well known to Dean. He had heard it all before, a thousand times. Perhaps one thousand and one was once to many.

"Dean?" Sam spoke softly slowly coming to his feet, wondering if the pain induced tempers were not quite over yet, "I'm sorry my brother's been hurt and he's."

Dean sent the second bottle flying inches from Sam's head and roared, "I warned you never apologise for me!" Dean's hard eyes and stony face attested to the intensity of the moment, warning Sam to pay heed. "We saved that girl's boyfriend from a life of demon possession. Why the hell should I apologise for that? Having to lie and cheat and steal to do my job may make me a criminal but I do what I have to, to do my job and I'm not one damned bit ashamed."

"I'm apologising for dragging them into it." Sam roared at his first opportunity.

"Bullshit! Want me to repeat your recitation of 'It's a terrible life.'?" Dean roared back his eyes blazing but seeing guilt manifest in Sam's eyes his anger was satisfied and his tone grew kinder, "Besides a demon dragged them into it not you or me. Sammy when are you going to get that there's nothing safe about the normal world. There is only one world. The one where evil can be lurking in any shadow, any closet, any ally. The difference is we know about it and they don't. We fight it and they feed it. What the hell is so great about ignorance when it makes you lunch!"

In the silence that followed as Sam tried to find some argument Brady came to a blinding revelation that snapped him from his state of shock.

"I was lunch." Brady stammered with horror, "Wasn't I? It wasn't drugs was it?"

"No." Sam confessed with a deep sadness, "It wasn't drugs."

"I have images, just pieces of things I thought were bad trips." Brady began slowly, "A face, a mask of horror and blood spraying everywhere. Bits and pieces of orgies and deviant sex. Like looking at a photo album or slide show. Sadistic stuff so much violence. It's real. I did those things."

Sam shouted an unequivocal, "NO!" startling Brady from his self flagellating demeanour.

"Possession means just that." Sam hurried to reassure, "The demon takes complete control of your body. You are responsible for nothing."

Brady needed to organize and analyzed everything he had experienced from this new perspective. Everyone remained silent giving him time and space. Seemingly oblivious to all around him Brady crawled from the bed where he'd huddled throughout Billy's exorcism. He slowly walked over to the fridge and took out a beer. Dean bounced an eyebrow at Sam and shrugged and Sam scowled back. Brady paced, paused and stared at nothing as his mind processed each event, then paced to a new space to think some more. Dean looked over to Sam and gave him a glance that asked is this guy about to blow? Sam returned with a shrug. Finely Brady stopped his pacing and fixed his eyes on Sam.

"But those things happened." Brady asked, "I was never delusional or drugged."

"I'm afraid the demon was definitely doing drugs but the things you remember probably happened." Sam conceded, "But it wasn't you. You didn't to those things. The demon did."

"But it was real, I was never sick or deranged." Brady wanted it spelled out.

"No, of course not." Sam assured him.

"Of course not! How could you not tell me?" Brady wailed in pain tainted with anger, "How could you let me think I became a junkie and all that ... everything that happened was just a twisted fantasy? I was afraid there was something wrong with me."

Sam shifted in his seat and released a deep sad sigh. This was the worse facet of the crime of lying. Though it may seem kind at the time one is always humiliated when caught in the act and there never seems to be a justifiable excuse. Dean watched Sam squirm in shameful, censure as he wrestled his eyes from the floor to Brady's face. And Dean thought HE was the king of insupportable guilt?

"I'm so sorry Brady." Sam said beseechingly.

"You're sorry? That's it, you're sorry?" Brady cried as he stood before Sam arms folded confrontationally over his chest, "I've been so terrified of slipping up again I've been afraid to have so much as a beer. I've been in analysis trying to discover the cause of my morbid, sadistic fantasies, and rid myself of my inner darkness."

With every word Sam's head hung lower and lower. He was the picture of dejection and guilt.

"I'm so sorry, I was just trying to help you get out of that place." Sam pleaded for forgiveness.

"Help me!" Brady exploded in furry, "You help people by telling them they're twisted?"

Dean didn't want to interfere. How Sam handled his friendships was his business. As Brady blustered in indignation, Dean sat silent waiting for Sam to speak up for himself. That was the way he'd raised Sam, to stand proud and tolerate no bullies. But Sam appeared to sink into the mattress as one trying to become invisible. Dean had a breaking point and Brady reached it.

"Why don't you just say thanks?" Dean roared at Brady.

"For what?" Brady demanded, "Lying to me so I think I'm a sick, twisted, freak?"

"Dean?" Sam's eyes begged him not to make a scene and alienate his friends, "It's complicated. You don't understand his point of view."

"Sam never told you, you were twisted or sick. You did that to yourself." Dean barked and stomped up to Brady putting an end to his hostile self-righteous ranting, "Do you really think he could have told you the truth? Are you that naive or that stupid? Supernatural explanations don't fly. You saw this with your own eyes and part of you is trying to come up with a rational explanation for everything. Hell you were possessed and something in the back of your head is still saying not possible. If we told you the truth the doctors would have tried to put us in adjoining rooms and you would still be a basket case in a psychiatric ward. So get your head out of your ass and smell the shit your shovelling."

"Dean, that was uncalled for." Sam growled.

"Oh, you disagree with what I said?"

After a drawn out silence Sam answered, "I disagree with the way you said it."

"If you don't like the way I talk then defend yourself instead of wallowing in guilt for giving this guy his life back."

"He has a point." Jessica spoke up.

"Who?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

"No one would have believed the truth. Brady, I remember what you were like when you were in the hospital." Jessica said approaching him, "When Sam suggested you were having drug induce hallucinations your eyes lit up. It was like he gave you hope, a way to walk away from the craziness in your head and start living again. Would you have believed him if he told you, you were possessed?"

Brady seemed to think for a moment then nodded and reached out his arms to Jessica who responded with a warm embrace. He let a few tears fall then smiled at Sam.

"She's right." He said over Jessica's shoulder to Sam, "You gave me hope, thank you."

"What do we tell Billy?" Laura asked.

"I don't think drugs will work with him." Sam hedged.

"See how receptive he is to the truth ." Dean suggested, "With the four of you backing each other up you could get away with it."

Another long silence was broken when Laura asked, "Then what do we do."

The college students gathered around the little round table in the kitchen area and sat staring at their hands and peeking at each other. Dean watched this painful scene waiting for then to begin whatever they intended to start. As the seconds turned to minutes Dean grew bored with the view and announced he was ordering pizza. He waited a while longer for something, anything to happen but his patience worn thin.

"So what is this, some kind of college ritual?" he asked.

"Opening a discussion like this isn't easy." Sam groaned though he had never seen his friends so tongue tied but he didn't know how to begin himself, "There's a lot to consider."

"It is easy." Dean countered, "You say whatever is on your mind."

"Everything is so simple to you." Jessica commented a hint of a smile on her lips, "I envy you your innocents."

"I thought we already established, I'm not the innocent one." Dean replied clearly annoyed.

"I didn't mean to offend you." Jessica apologised.

"We're cool." Dean shrugged it off.

"Thank you." Jessica acknowledged.

"Will you drop all the formalities?" Dean asked.

"They're courtesies." Sam moaned.

"Well your courtesies are getting in the way of a serious conversation." Dean countered with some frustration, "What do you do? About what happened here? Try telling Billy the truth, after that? What? What's the question here?"

"Dean they just learned that everything from zombies to ghouls are real." Sam sighed impatiently, "That's a lot to deal with."

"So give them instructions about salting windows and doors, a lesson or two on spotting the bad guys and what to do about it."

"What do we do about it?" Laura asked, "How do we live a normal life with all this going on around us?"

"You've been doing it all your lives just like your parents did and so forth. Nothing has changed in the world. You're living in the same one you always have. Just now you know about it. You could go the rest of your lives without ever seeing anything supernatural again. On the other hand there's no place you can hide including convents and monasteries. No magic will make you immune." Dean answered using a quiet, sympathetic tone, "You go on like normal, there's nothing stopping you. Just keep doing everything like you always have been. Sam can teach you the does and don't of what to do if you're faced with something for example, don't run for a church if you spot a werewolf or vampire, run for a crowd. Sam can teach you how to watch for signs of something evil in your neighbourhood." a knock sounded on the door, "Pizza" He said with a smile and answered the call of food.

The group sat in silence looking at each other then staring at Dean who took the three boxes from the delivery boy and dropped them unceremoniously in the middle of the table making Sam's friends jump. As he gathered four plates and one big knife everyone remained silent and still. Dean reached in placing a plate in front of each, then dropped the knife on top of the boxes and waited. Sam looked like he wanted to do something but was clearly uncomfortable and uncertain as to what. Dean waited only moments before getting beer and placing one beside each plate then sliced up the pizzas, placed a slice of Hawaiian pizza on Sam's plate and took a slice of meat lover pizza, for himself. He looked at the hot greasy food was pleased and stuffed half into his mouth. Still they sat in silence.

"If somebody doesn't move soon I'm calling the coroner's office." Dean threatened and when no one reacted he added, "Or I could drive silver stakes threw you just to be safe."

"Silver stakes?" Laura asked.

"Zombies, stake them back into their coffins with silver." Dean explained, "It's how I put Ricky Wienright to rest."

"A zombie?" Brady asked, "I heard he was killed in some kind of shoot out in a Voodoo temple." Brady said startled.

"Yah the priest turned him into a zombie and his dad was part of a bone pile. The old man's spirit spotted me breaking in to the temple and turned it was a nightmare." Dean gave them an abridged version of the story, "Killing people is not my favourite thing to do."

"What people?" Laura asked.

"Voodoo worshipers. The bodyguards, like that. You know it's unusual for the priest to have his temple in the cellar of the building he lives in. Very weird, I wonder…."

"Dean?" Sam interrupted Dean's meanderings.

"Right." Dean acknowledged.

"The priest, were you there to kill him?" Laura asked.

"Yes but not like that. First you destroy the alter the source of his power." Dean explained, "Later, I would have caught him alone or taken him out with a sniper riffle. I like to avoid collateral damage."

"A sniper riffle wouldn't cause collateral damage?" Brady asked doubtful.

"From a ten story roof top five blocks away I can put one right between his eyes without trying." Dean said with a grin.

Brady looked to Sam for some indication that his brother was just making noise. With a little smile and shrug Sam nodded and Brady mouthed wow.

"Would the others have started up the temple again." Laura asked sparked by a intellectual and philosophical thought.

"Probably." Dean affirmed.

"And the police wouldn't have shut it down?" she asked.

"Even if the cops know about the temple they can't prove anything." Dean answered, "Someone would have to make a complaint complete with evidence of something wrong, to give them cause to search the place. That would never happen in that neighbourhood."

"So the temple would be rebuilt.

"If he had a protégé or a son or daughter or something it would start over again. When they were powerful enough to make more zombies and curse people and shit like that then me or another hunter goes back and takes care of him.

"So what you did was the only way to actually put the temple out of operation." Laura thought aloud, "It may not be palatable but it was the right thing if you intend to truly prevent the evil from continuing and spreading."

"You can condone killing human beings." Sam was startled.

The interaction seemed to ignite a spark of life in those sitting around the table. It began with Sam serving the pizza and much to Dean's wonder Jessica rose and obtained knives and forks. Dean was stunned to find there were people in the world who actually ate pizza with knives and forks. And people thought he was a freak?

"If you consider that these people are murders and worse and societies justice system is incapable of stopping them then we are left with only two options." Laura illustrated her thought processes , "We can either let them continue to murder and enslave people or we can accept another form of judicial action. People like Dean who hunt this type of evil."

"Hunter's killing werewolves and skin walkers and things like that I understand. They're not human. It's like putting down a rabid dog." Sam spoke up, "But people? Human beings aren't animals. No one man has the right to condemn another man to death much less pull the trigger."

"Then you condemn us all to the role of defenceless victims of these practitioners of evil." Laura pointed out, "I don't like that idea."

"The other side of the coin is we have vigilantes out there deciding what is evil and what isn't and dispensing their own brand of justice." Jessica offered a counter argument.

Dean waited for Sam to jump on the word vigilante but he didn't and that started something deep in the pit of his stomach. Temper, temper he told himself.

"I'm glad there was a little justice here." Brady offered a more personal point of view.

"Demon's of course Brady, but people?" Sam asked.

"What is the criteria for killing a human being?" Laura asked Dean.

"Wowe, I'm not getting dragged into this." Dean refused.

"Just answer the question, Dean!" Sam snapped peeved by Dean's lack of esteem for this intellectual exchange and his friends as well.

Dean's face went blank a moment then he smirked and asked, "Was that an order, Sam? What happened to your courtesies?"

Startled Sam asked in disbelief, "What do you care about courtesy?"

"I care about your selective application of it." Dean's smirk grew, "I care even more about your 'obey me' tone of voice."

Sam's friends eyes turned to him, but were they waiting for a counter argument? Sam couldn't be sure. He had expected Dean to snarl 'bite me' and marched out or groan and give in. Where was all this weirdness in his brother coming from? But more important, 'Your selective application of it.' was difficult to argue with. He had been a little out of line.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Sam acknowledged his misstep and Dean accepted with a nod then headed for the door, "Dean would you please answer the question."

"I'm off duty. I'm shaking off the hunter and going to look for some fun. I'll bet there's lots of fun down on the beach. Later scholars."

"Dean please." Sam stopped him at the door giving him the puppy dog eyes.

Dean sighed and groaned, this just wasn't fair, then stomped over to the kitchen, grabbed another beer and another slice of pizza, no make that two then hopped up on the counter.

"Criteria, there's no criteria." Dean answered not hiding his reluctance in the least, "It's simple. If it's supernatural and evil we kill it. Evil is killing or causing bodily harm to people. With people, if they sell their soul, like witches or voodoo priests we kill them too."

"People really do that?" Jessica whispered, "Sell their soul's?"

"It's a sad fact and sometimes they don't even realize they're doing it." Dean paused as he wolfed down more dinner, "A little coffee clutch of enterprising ladies find a weird looking book with symbols on the cover. Kinky, lets play witch craft. So they cast a few spells to improve their enterprises not even thinking they're playing with demonic powers until it's to late. But it is too late. They either give into the demon they've been getting favours from or it'll kill them and take them straight to hell. Either way they're dead cause I'll kill them to stop them from cursing people."

"You kill someone over a curse?" Jessica didn't approve.

"I'm not talking about 'fuck you' kind of cursing or giving someone four flat tires." Dean said rolling his eyes, "A witch, while sitting in her livingroom can curse someone living on the other side of town and the victim bleeds to death in their own bathroom. There's curses that can destroy family's for generations. Once the soul is sold it's over. There is not saving the poor bitch but there is stopping them from damning someone else."

"What about the power of God?" Jessica asked.

Dean opened his mouth to respond then decided against it. There was no way on earth he was going to risk that conversation. He still had a lot of work to do on self control and if Gabriel was right about the cause of the bursts of temper he may never be under complete control. Better not to risk offending Sam's friends with his unflattering view on God or making statements he couldn't back up without having to tell all. Instead he grabbed his keys and jumped off the kitchen counter.

"This is definitely my stop. Have fun kiddies. I know I will, down at the beach." he said as he headed for the door."

"Wait, that was a valid question. You have to answer it." Brady insisted.

"Valid question? If you guys want to have some kind of philosophical debate or an intellectual exorcise on the supernatural go ahead." Dean gave them leave, "But this happens to be my life not philosophy and I think I've been pretty tolerant."

"I didn't mean any offence." Jessica tried to apologise.

"You can't hold a forum on how I should be doing my job and not offend me." Dean said his tone softening, "I can understand you being blown away by this and asking questions but that's not what you're doing. I feel like I'm under a magnifying glass."

"Damn it she didn't mean anything." Sam complained of Dean's reproach.

"That's another point. It doesn't mean anything to you. You're discussing evil like it's some abstract concept but it's people's lives you're talking about." Dean cried, in exasperation but without malice, "Brady, that image you have of cutting someone's throat? Boy or girl, man or woman?" When Brady only stared Dean's face turned to stone, "I asked you a question." he demanded an answer.

"A girl maybe eighteen or twenty." Brady stammered.

"She was someone's daughter." Dean informed him in a calm instructive manner, "Her parents buried their little girl and are probably still grieving. The last thing she ever saw in her short life was the black eyes of a demon wearing your face."

Brady's face began to twist in pain. Jessica covered her mouth with her hand as she gasped at the image Dean painted for her. Laura turned away hiding her sorrow or was it shame.

"That is what evil is, what it does. Nothing abstract about it."

"That's enough." Sam ordered grabbing him by the arm trying to spin Dean to face him

Dean flipped his arm around grabbing Sam's and gave him a shove sending him staggering back. For a moment it appeared Sam might fight but he thought better of it and only glared with killer eyes. Dean returned the warning look then ignored Sam and turned his attention back to Sam's friends.

"That's what you're having your little discussion about." Dean would not be silenced, "Little girls in the morgue, people eaten alive or staked out on a floor, and turned into mindless puppets like Ricky." Laura sat on the foot of a bed and stared up at Dean wide eyed, "You can't turn this into something rational and civilized with an academic debate and I won't be part of it. If you want me to teach you about this shit fine, but don't you presume to quiz me or think you're in any position to push the wrong answer buzzer."

Jessica, Laura and Brady exchanged questioning glances, gathered and began to whisper among themselves while Sam dragged Dean outside for a private conversation. Dean could see Sam was angry with him but he honestly wasn't sure why. He couldn't fathom Sam's strange behaviour. Sam was always so intellectually arrogant so why did he sit on the sideline with them? It seemed very unSam like, so what was it? As Sam demanded 'Couldn't you be just a little civilized? Do you have to be so damned rude and snarl at them lik .. I don't know?'. It came to Dean. Sam would be hot in the middle of any juicy topic but this one. The terrible life he was so ashamed to be a part of. He wouldn't defend something he hates and he isn't about to let them know just how much he was a part of the life.

"Civilized, like making an academic exorcise out of murder and evil?" Dean asked his tone heavy with sarcasm, "I was rude when I stopped that pompous ass from holding it against you for saving his life, but he was polite when he ordered me to answer the question?"

"They're in shock." Sam hissed, "They're trying to cope and you're landing all over them."

"They were running and hiding and you weren't helping by going along with that round table discussion on the pros and cons and dos and don'ts of hunting." Dean barked back, "They needed a good slap across the face and I gave them one."

"What makes you think you know anything about them?" Sam snarled, hating the way Dean always reduced everything to it's most basic level.

"I know you Sam." Dean answered after taking a few moments to swallow hard, "You're like them in so many ways including deluding your self into thinking you can be safe anywhere. Do you carry silver everywhere you go?" Sam wouldn't answer which was an answer, "No, so if you ran into a werewolf or shape shifter or well lots of things, you'd be dead. So where's your safe? Protect yourself Sam and teach them to do it too. Isn't one friend in a box enough?"

The wind in Sam's sails slowly died down. He didn't agreed with how Dean went about it but Sam couldn't argue with what he was saying. Ricky may not have been a personal friend but watching Becky grieve had been hard. Watching Brady trying to pull himself together had been even harder. No he wasn't safe and neither were they. But was that because they were near him? Should he leave and live on the road with Dean, at least until this was over?

Dean watched the leg shaking and pocket slapping die down and stop. Two old nervous habits he had yet to grow out of. True indicators that his temper was ebbing. Dean allowed himself a little relief. His temper still growled inside him but it was far less directed. Without the powerful compulsion to vent it on the source pushing at the weakening wall of his control, he could run it off and be done with it.

"Sam why don't you go talk to your friends." Dean suggested gently, "They need you and I think you need them right know too. I'm going for a run then I'll head to the beach for some well earned R & R. Oh and Sam, stop vilifying me and my way of life. Without it…." Dean left it at that and turned away from the door.

To late. The door creaked open revealing Sam's three very subdued friends. Dean wouldn't have said they looked embarrassed but definitely uncomfortable. Run he told himself make a break for it. They'd never catch him.

"Dean, you were right." Jessica said taking a step forward, "This isn't something we can come to terms with by debating it. We need your help. You and Sam. We need to understand what's out there and what to do about it if anything."

Not even Sam with his long legs could catch him anymore and he needed a run anyway. Sam would tear his head off when he got back then not speak to him for a week. That rumbling inside was getting worse.

"I need to burn some of this off and a bottle." Dean said and threw Sam the keys to the Impala.

"What?" Sam stared at the keys in his hand, "Are you asking me to drive your car?"

"I'm telling you if I'm going to teach supernatural 101 then you go get me a bottle while I run of some of this pent up frustration and shit." Dean spelled it out managing not to laugh at the stunned expression on his brothers face, "Go shoo, I'll be back in five or ten so try to be back before I do." he finished then took off at a dead run.

Sam watched amazed by how fast Dean disappeared into the darkness then looked down at the keys again. He was going to drive Dean's precious Impala? A grin spread across his face until it became dimpled.

He looked up and asked, "Shall we go for a ride?"

Dean ran to the beach then picked up his speed as he fumed over the good time he was being denied. He ran until he felt the tide of temper ebbing. Reasoning out that he couldn't blame them for wanting to know, helped quiet his temper but it was not until he had run well past the party and into regions unknown that the rumbling finely faded. He stopped, looked around and decide he should turn back before he became lost.

"Give me your wallet!" A strange voice from behind ordered.

Dean slowly turned around to find a gun six inches from his face.

"Dude did you pick the wrong guy." Dean smirked.

"You're wallet now." The teenager commanded again.

Dean's left hand flew to the boys wrist and pushed it away so fast the mugger didn't see it move, nor did he see the fist coming at him until it was in his face and he was falling to the ground. Dean gave the wrist a little twist and had the gun in his hand. It was over in less than a minute.

"I'll take this just so you don't hurt yourself and dude, consider another line of work. You suck at this." Dean said with a laugh and was off and running again.

Dean had run off his temper only to find his Impala had not returned from the liquor store. As he washed up and put on a clean T shirt and jeans he reminded himself that he gave Sam the keys without asking how far the nearest store was. When he heard the throaty rumble of his baby's engine in under ten minutes Dean was able to relax.

Sam and his friends found Dean sitting on the counter empty glass in hand. Sam slapped the bottle down beside him and a bag of Doritos beside it then joined his friends as they arranged themselves around the table facing Dean. Brady gave Sam and the girls a bottle from one of the two six packs he placed in the fridge and each selected their favourite munchy from the pile on the table.

"You're doing this on purpose." Dean accused Sam.

"Yep." Sam smiled at him, "Please begin professor."

"Just remember, paybacks a bitch." Dean warned, Sam continued to smile, "Fine, the first thing you need to know is that you have a better chance getting mugged on a dark road than you do meeting something supernatural. There can be something in the largest city or smallest town but there's no way of knowing which ones till there's signs. Generally speaking that's people dieing."

Suddenly the munchies weren't quit so tasty but Dean didn't stop. He'd given little talks like this several times to victims who weren't prepare to just walk away glad to be alive. Victims who needed to know. Dean went into a little more detail with Sam's friends, offering insights and answering question for two solid hours. Not once did he call upon Sam to answer letting him take the role of the civilian. Dean wasn't ashamed but he respected the fact that Sam was. They knew Sam knew about it, they didn't need to know he had ever hunted. Dean finished with rolling out the 'mummy bag' enjoying the way they all, even Sam, jumped as Eve did in the movie.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked.

"A present from Ellen. She made it for her husband." Dean answered and pulled three possession charms from a pocket, "You get your tattoo?" He asked Sam who answered by displaying the charm around his neck, "Not smart. Here ladies, wear these and Laura give one to Billy. They're protection against possession. If you're smart you'll get it tattooed on you cause these can be lost or broken. You've got one, right Brady," When he answered at home Dean shook his head and ordered, "Wear it or get it tattooed if you don't like something around your neck." and lowered a corner of his jeans down to make his point, "On your ass where no one will see it if you're self conscious. The girls are getting tattoos on their ankles these days. Protect yourself."

As they filed out the door Laura asked Brady for a ride to the hospital. Sam and Dean were glad she was going to Billy. He probably did make the first moves prompting the demon to possess him, and Sam hoped he would still be able to make Laura happy.

"Mind if we hang around long enough to see if Billy's okay?" Sam asked, "I'm worried about Laura, with all this."

"We'll need two days to get to New Orleans." Dean answered, "We can wait that long."

"Thanks Dean."

"No big." Dean sighed as he climbed into bed.

On one hand it felt so natural getting into bed with Sam stretched out in the next one yet something was a little off. Something was missing. Dean sighed and turned off the light. Sam waited until all was quiet and settled before telling Dean how impressed he was with how he handled the 'supernatural class'.

"Oh uhm thanks Sam." Dean answered surprise by the compliment, "But don't put me in that position again."

"Jerk." Sam grumbled.

"Bitch." Dean muttered back and smiled, 'that was better'.

* * *

*** the exorcism is in fact only one peace of the Catholic Rite and the translation into Latin is not perfect but as close as the two languages permit. (The full exorcism is 17 pages long so you can appreciate why I gave you an abridged version.) It looses something in the translation, both ways. ;)**

****There really are people who eat pizza with knifes and forks I sware it.**

*****May the the sun always shine on your face, the wind be forever at your back and may you be half an hour in heave before the devil knows you're dead. A little Irish proverb for the new year.**

******Please review and let me know what you think of the route I'm taking this story or just let me know you're still reading.**


	18. Chapter 18 Not The Love Boat

**I**** don't own Sam, Dean or supernatural, how sad am I.**

**I wish to express my appreciation for the reviews I received for chapter 17 and would like to answer a question. "Why doesn't Sam explain to Dean that it was the lying that he was ashamed of not the hunting." If you review the chapter you will find that Sam specifically states he could not reconcile himself to being a criminal. There in lies the shame. When he speaks of hunting he speaks of the perpetual fear and the violence he finds intolerable. The friction between Sam and Dean is not Sam's personal choice but Sam's inability to separate the hunting from the lifestyle imposed on the boys by John's clumsy parenting and Dean's continuing struggles with his anger issues compounds matters. All will come in due time.**

**Reread and republished. See any mistakes I missed?  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 18**

**Not The Love Boat**

Although some might say waiting an hour to take an injured person to the hospital was criminally reckless, compared to what your average mugging victim goes through it was prompt and timely. Billy's fractured skull did put him in a comma but it only lasted two days. He opened his eyes to find Laura sitting by his side. He could think of few sights more desirable than the face of the vivacious psychology major who dared suggest Prof. Bakersfield might be bios in his views on Freud. The day he witnessed their little exchange he was resolved to take her out to dinner. The first date quickly lead to a second and a third, each as pleasant as the first. He was amazed by how fast his feelings grew. Then something happened. They were having lunch at the Underground, there was a column of smoke then … nothing. Did he pass out, was there an accident?

**"**Christo." Laura said.

"What?" he asked and she smile that beautiful smile he fell in love with on their first date.

Billy tried but couldn't remembered anything after seeing the column of smoke in the men's room at the club. 'My God', he thought the club caught fire and he was on the floor in a bathroom when any decent man would have been looking after his girl. Not that he claimed Laura as his girl, not yet. It was only the third date but she seemed to like him and he was certainly enchanted by her. But still a fire and he's on the floor like some lame ass jerk. But the smile on her face and her reassuring worlds would indicate he hadn't blown it quite yet. Even more, her friends wanted to see that he was all right. A very good sign.

Billy didn't remember Laura's friends very well and was surprised when the very next day they were at his bedside. She did speak of them and he did meet them at the underground for a beer once. Wait the tall one was a waiter there, yes he remembered him fairly well. The blond leaning against the wall with his arms folded, he had never met and just as well. Focused eyes, the cool reserve, leather jacket and painfully good looking, Billy always hated the type. The couple he vaguely remembered from the night at the campus club.

The fact that he was missing three weeks of his life was a disturbing shock to Billy and photo's of dates with Laura he had only vague dreamlike memories of convinced the intelligent level headed working student that something was well out of the ordinary. There was one image most possession victims seemed to always remember and it made the outrageous story they were telling compelling. The first killing. An old woman on her way to the market to pick up food for her cat was found in a ally with her throat cut. There was an additional killing of three delinquents that seemed to be stored somewhere in his mind and Sam quickly found it on the Internet. It was attributed to gangs in the area but Billy remember it. He had been there. Laura was left alone with Billy as he wrestled with his turbulent emotions.

"Did I look like that?" Brady asked over coffee in the hospital cafeteria.

"Pretty much for the first fifteen minutes." Dean answered, "Then you really freaked."

Dean's placid expression didn't change as Jessica and Sam glared at him.

"Thought so." Brady sighed, "So what now? Another supernatural survival class?"

"Not by me." Dean answered quickly and received a narrowed eye glance from Sam.

"Dean and I will be leaving for New Orleans soon." Sam answered, "It'll be up to you guys to help him out."

"You guys should band together." Dean suggested.

"We're friends we will stick together." Jessica replied confused by the suggestion.

"I mean get a place together. It's easier to evil proof a place if you don't have to explain what your doing to others." Dean explained, "The silver, the iron, the devil's trap under the carpet, all gets a lot easier when everyone knows what's going on, not to mention being able to talk freely. Just a suggestion."

"Definitely something to think about." Brady who was not eager to be alone..., ever, conceded.

"Yes, it might be a very good idea." Jessica, who now found the dark ominous, agreed.

Conversation was slow and awkward around the table until Jessica asked if Dean had ever found anything else dangerous in Palo Alto and when he replied the closest was Clearlake they asked about that. Dean was never one to overlook an opportunity to tell tales of daring do to insiders and also saw an opportunity to promote the not evil side of the supernatural. Trying to explain heaven from an insider's perspective would opened a can of worms so he ended his tale with 'she smiled and was gone.'

"Good spirits, that's amazing." Jessica smiled happy to hear something positive for a change.

"Just remember that's the exception not the rule." Dean warned.

"What about you Sam?" Brady asked, "Did you ever hunt?"

"Well …" Sam hesitated.

"Hunting isn't for everybody. There's a lot of pain and blood and not everyone can turn their mind off to that. Different people help in different ways." Dean rushed to his rescue, "Sam's going to be a lawyer and keep me out of jail which could be a full time job."

"We've given them an hour." Sam brought the conversation to a hurried end, "Let's go see how their doing. Laura may need a little support."

And she did. Acceptance of the existence of evil is a difficult thing and, as Brady could attest to, reconciling ones self to the fact that it, at one time, lived in you is even harder. Billy listened to the words of comfort and reassurance mixed with warnings and more bad news with surprising emotional restraint. He was a strong man accustomed to difficulty and not unfamiliar with the harsher side of life. He had good loving parents who sadly orphaned him at the age of eleven in a car accident. The group home he lived in was a comfortable supportive one but noisy and chaotic with five other children in it. A difficult adjustment for the once only child but he adjusted to the loneliness in a crowd and strived to avoid the bitterness that often accompanied misfortune.

For A students grants came easy but for B students it was a little harder. Billy's area of interest was educational development making a simple Bachelors degree insufficient and as creating programming was an administrative function Billy found the eighteen hours assisting in the programming and development department the perfect place for him. It opened doors to classes and at much cheaper rates. He was moving toward his degree at a slow but steady pace. He was living an ordered comfortable life that did not prepare him for violence and evil.

"Just who are you?" Billy asked Dean in his search for a distraction from the madness.

"I'm a demon hunter." Dean answered a slight curl pulling at his lips.

Billy really didn't like this bad boy type. They had a tendency to sparkle a girls eyes. He thought Laura should be safe from him. These guys went for the leggy dumb bimbo type and Laura though shapely was very petite and undoubtedly far to smart. Still he couldn't bare to let go of her hand while the guy was in the room.

"Demon hunter?" Billy asked, "Are you serious."

"Lucky for you I am." Dean replied the hint of a grin growing.

Dean knew that look in his eyes well, had seen it often enough and it always amused him.

"Billy, this is the guy that exorcised the demon out of you." Laura told him, "He saved you. He and Sam are going to be in town for a few more days. Dean's the one who can answer any questions you have about this."

Much of the hostility faded from Billy's eyes but Dean was sure it wasn't his having saved him that cheered Billy up but his eminent departure. The jealous type are so cute. Dean took on a more professional demeanour, stepped forward and took the charm from the bed side table and slipped it around Billy's neck.

"Wear this night and day. Never take it off or better still get it tattooed on you." Dean began his little speech, "Somewhere private if you're not in to ink."

Dean continued with the 'you may never see another supernatural thing in your life or you could run into something next year or next month' speech. It was short and easy. Laura, Brady and Jessica could fill him in on the details. Sam wanted to stick around for another day or two just to be sure everyone was all right, to see Jessica and Brady off at the airport, and spend time with Laura and Billy. Dean took the time to enjoy a little recreation. Pool halls, bikini watching and bar babes. Hope was a wondrous thing. It could breed life into a dieing soul, give colour to a faded world, and flavour to delicacies that had long gone flat. It was true, disaster had struck painfully hard but some things were going very, very right.

Sam returned to the hotel after visiting the hospital to find Dean at work on his laptop. Though Dean had always done a great deal of the preliminary research on any case, Sam was not in the habit of seeing Dean so studious when it wasn't required.

"Looking for something in particular." He asked Dean.

"Yah, the bitch." Dean answered without looking up.

"Any success?" Sam asked.

"I'd be dragging you out the door if I had." Dean sighed, "She's scary quiet."

"Sweats, a new look for you." Sam tried to make conversation.

"Went out for a run."

"I didn't know you like jogging. We should go together."

"I hate jogging. I just needed to do something physical." Dean answered keeping it short and to the point.

He was finding it hard to burn off excess energy of late and though it didn't worry him a great deal it could be annoying at times. Fortunately Cass was showing up regularly to provide obstacles and a challenge. They either ran a course or practiced hand to hand combat. Dean doubted he would ever beat the Angel but he was lasting longer and it was growing harder for Cass to beat him with each match. Cass was learning a few things as well. He was incredibly strong but rather short on technique. It soothed the ego, bruised by loosing every match, when Dean found himself the teacher.

"You can come if you think you can keep up with me." Dean challenged Sam.

"When do you usually go out?" Sam asked.

"No set time, I'm usually up by five but really it's when ever." Dean answered then asked, "Sam are you practising? Doing any training?"

"There's a couple of guys with some skills at the gym I spar with when they're there and I work out pretty regularly." Sam answered not entirely surprised by the question.

"Good, you want to get flabby when this is over that's your business but not a good idea right now, okay Sammy?" Dean asked more than told.

"Sure, I doubt I'll ever want to be flabby anyway." Sam answered appreciating Dean's approach.

"Ready to hit the road tomorrow?"

"So ready."

* * *

It was thirty hours to New Orleans and though the trip was long it was made light by joking and easy chatter. Sam took the wheel for a few hours each day and they stopped at reasonably clean hotels for a late dinner. Sam looked over all the brochures for the boat tour. They described just what Dean had said, a casino cruise with Vegas style shows, lounge acts, a pool and stops at historical ports of call. Though it was not technically a singles tour persons under age, were not permitted. Dean even promised to come on the tours if Sam couldn't find a girl to go with him. 'But you're going to find a girl, right?' Dean added.

Go ahead and laugh Sammy, throw your head back, stomp a foot and laugh, I love to hear it. This was so much better than the first visit and even a couple of notches above the last. Dean promised to conjure up a demon to torment the advertisers if this boat wasn't everything it was cracked up to be which was a floating luxury resort. They arrived in New Orleans in good time for dinner so they headed straight to the French Quarter and hit Bourbon street, notorious for it's night life. Dean even went so far as to forgo his bacon cheese burger in favour of local Cajun fair and though he found a few ladies to dance with at the nightclubs the boys left for a motel together. This trip was about time with Sam.

Boarding was between eight and ten and the ship would sail for Ste. Francisville at noon arriving in time for dinner then night life. After securing the Impala in a guarded parking lot near the river front they took a taxi to the docks and found their Riverboat already taking on passengers. Though it was significantly smaller than an ocean liner it looked every bit as grand as advertised.

Though a modern vessel the Mississippi Queen was designed to look like an nineteenth century paddle riverboat, decorated in the lavish and ornate Victorian style. There were draperies adorning every doorway and elaborately carved sofas and tables and woodwork was in every room. Whether you enjoyed the fanciful or not it created a mood of elegance, excess and fantasy. That was what Dean wanted. To escape his reality for a little while. The dimpled smile on Sam added to the pleasure. Sam and Dean took a slow casual stroll to their cabin taking in all the scenery. Dean was smiling ear to ear by the time they reached their cabin. He had seen the casino though glass doors on their way up and spotted posters with show girls. He was in heaven.

sssssssssssssss

They found their suite on the top level and though being on a ship forced everything to be a little more compact it was indeed a luxury suite. To the left of the door were two queen beds, with a large ornate mirrored dresser and even a ladies vanity and to the right a sitting area with well stuffed wing chairs, a good sized round table, a desk and a highly polished and stalked bar. Between the bed and sitting area was a double door leading out to a balcony. Definitely a cut above their usual standards. Sam flopped down on the bed and sighed.

"Pillow top." He chimed happily.

"What's that?" Dean asked tossing his bag on a chair.

"Lie down and you'll see the difference a pillow top mattress makes."

"Oh man." Dean exclaimed as he stretched out on true sleeping luxury, "I've never slept on anything like this before."

"I did when I stayed at a friends place. I've dreamed about buying one ever since."

"Buy one." Dean told him and got up to unpack. "Go ahead, why not. You deserve it."

"Yah well we'll see what kind of funds I get this year." Sam said then remembered his letter and pulled it out of his bag.

He had to read the letter twice. It just didn't seem possible. How was he going to complete the year without supporting grants? The scholarship paid for all his classes but it was the grants that paid for his dorm room and two meals a day. His part time job kept Sam in money for necessities like cloths toiletries and anything he wanted off campus but it wouldn't pay for food and lodgings. The letter stated his personal accounts indicated his financial status as above the requirements to qualify for his grant this year.

"What the hell?" Sam demanded and stared out the balcony door in a state of shock.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked concerned.

"I'm not getting my grant this year." Sam stammered beginning to feel sick, "Five thousand dollars for room and board, books for each class a couple of hundred, personal expenses, how the hell am I going to do this. A couple of hundred dollars in my account how can I be too rich?"

"Sammy you haven't checked you bank since I transferred some money have you?" Dean chuckled.

"What?" Sam asked his eyes slowly turning to Dean.

"Dude, I put twelve thousand in your account." Dean laughed.

Sam stared at Dean a moment then looked around the room and back to Dean, his lips moving from time to time then he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked mildly amuse.

"You put twelve grand in my account?" Sam asked just to be sure he heard right.

"Twelve grand."

"This is first class isn't it."

"Luxury all the way."

"Right, which is a few grand too isn't it?"

"Not quite eleven grand."

After taking a moment to digest that statement Sam sat up and looked Dean in the eye, "When did you rob a bank?"

Dean had to laugh, it was a fair question. In all their lives they barely had money enough to eat much less splurge on luxuries. Dean had stolen Sam's first note book computer and even such things as book bags and other school supplies where often stolen. The idea of such extravagant vacations were not even dreamed of.

"Sam I have a hell of a lot more than ten grand. And I got it gambling."

"Don't bull shit me. Even if you started holding money back from dad the day I left, you could not have that much. You couldn't earn half that in a year much less save it." Sam called Dean on his thin explanation.

"I'm not going to get pissed at you for calling me a liar cause you have a point but you'd better stop cause I'm getting sick and tired of it." Dean held his temper in check with only mild effort, "Dad taught us to hustle and play poker in dives, biker bars, shit hole roughneck places, where five hundred bucks, was a good night. I've upped my game Sam. I make a hell of a lot more money than dad ever did and I'll recoup everything I gave you in a month easy. Don't worry about it."

"Dean if it was that easy to make money gambling there would be a lot more rich people in Los Vegas." Sam called him a liar without saying it.

A cold smirk slipped slowly across Dean's face as he answered, "Who said it was easy? It takes brains, skill, talent, timing and patience. Dad had brains and skill he even had some talent but he sure as hell had no patience and his timing depended on how much he was drinking that night." Dean paused to hang up his leather coat, "I have the brains and the skill and a lot more talent than dad ever had. I have more patience than both of you put together as for timing, well," his smirk took on a mean edge, "I always tended to be in the right place at the right time to save your asses so that kind of speaks for it's self doesn't it. I'm going out on deck and check this place out."

"Dean." Sam rushed to the door and called after him, "Dean? Dean please wait, I'm … wait … Dean?"

Sam shut the door and returned to the incredibly comfortable bed dropping on it heavily, groaning and wondering when he would stop putting his over-sized foot in his super sized mouth. They both knew the only reason dad could still beat Dean at poker was because he cheated and John could only beat Dean at pool when sober. It did say a lot about both their pool skills that John never lost in the pool halls cause he never came home sober. Well maybe he didn't start drinking until he had a few hundred in his pocket. So Dean was upping his game, great, maybe he could stop the credit card scams. Sam would be so proud.

Sam stared at the ceiling suckling his guilt until boredom got the better of him and he began wandering the riverboat looking over all the attractions. The show in the main lounge should be good, there were certainly enough show girls to keep Dean entertained. The buffet lunch was great. Food a plenty, variety enough to tempt any palate and there was Dean at a table with no less than three girls and a full plate of food. Where else would he be? Sam didn't force himself into the situation giving Dean his space.

The boat was three stories high with the pool, hot tub and a luncheon/cocktail bar on the top canopied deck. Sam turned away from Dean and checked out the pool. It was rather small and not particularly deep. Sam doubted it was even over his head. It wasn't really necessary. The ladies lounging around the pool were the whole point for Dean and Sam was never much of a swimmer anyway.

Sam had already taken his shower and was changing into his suit for the Captain's dinner when Dean returned to the cabin. Sam had, had to purchase a suit for whine and cheese with the faculty and other functions and went to the trouble of earning extra for a good one. He was amused and relieved hearing Dean's story of how Ellen and Jo dragged him to a "Nose in the air" high priced men's shop. 'Damn it I had to stand there for a fitting, and you don't want to know how much it coast me to have it fitted and ready by the end of the day. If it was anyone but the Harvelle's I'd a said forget it. Never shop with women.' Sam took a look at the logo on the garment bag. Dean wasn't kidding about the high priced.

"Glad I don't have to go looking for you." Dean grinned seeing Sam stretched out on his bed.

"I was about to go looking for you." Sam returned.

"Me late for a meal? Not going to happen." Dean chuckled, "My turn in the shower?"

"Yep, Dean are you going to let me apologize?" Sam asked.

"I'm over that." Dean shrugged it off, "Though Sammy, instead of telling me what I can't do maybe you should ask me how I can. It might save you from getting your gums infected with athletes foot."

Sam might have been insulted if Dean hadn't had a big grin when he said it. Dean never could hold a grudge against Sam. Most of the afternoon had to be the longest he'd ever sulked. Sam pulled on his dark blue suit and light blue striped shirt with a perfectly matched tie and waited. The water had stopped ten minutes ago what was keeping him? He hadn't heard any bangs or booms but Sam began to worry. He tapped on the door and turned the knob peeking in.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked and was sorry he had invaded Dean's privacy.

Dean had been particular about keeping his face away from Sam's eyes and now he knew why. He would have preferred to remained blissfully ignorant. He would rather have pretended. He liked his brother just the way he was. The handsome, charming rouge he always knew. Dean stood in front of a mirror his damp hair combed back, smearing a thick makeup over the right side of his face covering a network of scars meandering from eye to chin. Startled Dean turned giving Sam a view of his arms and chest.

'God I hate Dad.' Sam thought.

"I'll be a few more minutes." Dean tried to sound casual, "This takes a while."

"Didn't mean to … sorry." Sam mumbled, then had to ask, "It doesn't hurt or bother you or anything does it?"

"The makeup?" Dean grinned, "Naw, well at first yah it bothered me but you get used to it. This stuff is great. Professional stuff. It's water proof and everything. I could take a dive and as long as I don't spend an hour in the pool with my head under water I'd be fine."

"You wouldn't want to do that anyway." Sam smiled dimples showing.

"What?"

"In the pool underwater for an hour. You'd drown."

"Let me work, geek boy."

Sam had to admit the makeup job, though it took a while, was masterful and the suit the ladies picked out was excellent. High quality light weight wool soft grey and two vests. It was a fight to get Dean into one of the vests. Sam wondered how the ladies convinced him to buy them. Ganged up and corned him no doubt. Sam entered the dining room his chest swollen with pride as he watched heads turn in their direction. They were lead to a large round table by the captains table and seated with six others. Four ladies and two other men. The men were a little older then Sam and Dean and the ladies about their age. 'Oh, oh,' Sam thought as he saw the ladies eyes light up and frowns appear on the men's faces, 'This could be trouble.'

"I didn't know they gave day passes from heaven." Dean commented drawing giggles from the girls.

It was a rare occasion when Sam actually witnessed something like this.

_The gun is sounded and their out of the starting gate with the stallion from Kansas in the lead._

"Sweet little angels from heaven, think you could have come up with something more original than that." David a banker from Pittsburgh chuckled.

"Isn't the delicate halo thing kind of passé. Hardly empowering is it?" his friend loan officer Larry asked the ladies.

_Pittsburgh's Pride is challenging the Kansas stallion's left flank with Bankers Dream is making a play on the right. _

"Delicate, sweet, you guys don't read your Bible." Dean grinned.

A girl with big dark eyes and shiny raven hair smiled a laughing smile at Dean leaning into the table allowing her low cut dress to speak to him.

"I don't know a lot about Angels in the Bible but I can tell you I'm not Rona Downy." She said barely suppressing a laugh.

_The Kansas Stallion is falling behind as Pittsburgh's Pride and Banker's Dream pull ahead and the judges are ready to call the race right now. It does not look good for this undefeated champ. _

Dean leaned into the table and gave the provocatively dressed girl the most sensual, suggestive smile he had in his arsenal.

"Angels aren't fluffy little cherubs that perch on your shoulder." He told her. "They're warriors, dangerous, beautiful and perfect."

"Really? Dangerous, beautiful …?"

"And perfect." Dean finished holding her gaze with his eyes saying so much more. "Dean." He finely spoke after a long meaningful silence.

"Connie."

Giggles and whispered comments all around.

_And with a sudden powerful burst of speed the stallion from Kansas charges ahead leaving Pittsburgh's Pride and Bankers Dream in the dust. He crosses the finish line the undisputed champion once again._

The tone seemed to be set for the night, excitement, laughter and fun in general. They arrived in St. Francisville in the early evening and made plans for the next day. On a tour the following day Dean put a smile on his face and did his best to listen to Sam's chatter about the historical sights they were seeing but when he discovered that one of those sights would be Myrtle Plantation house he took a genuine interest. The Myrtle was often hailed as one of the most haunted houses in the country. Lacking any death by mysterious causes nary a hunter bothered to investigated it. Damn, he forgot his EMF meter. He sensed nothing evil anywhere on the property but he did hear children's laughter in the house and both he and Sam saw a woman in a green bonnet by the out buildings. It wasn't as funny as it would have been if there was nothing there but Dean didn't complain. In Natchez they enjoyed some local entertainment after Dean indulged Sam by joining him on the tour of local architecture then back to the Riverboat for dinner, a show and a few hands of poker. The show wasn't up to Vegas standards Sam said but Dean wasn't disappointed and as Sam wasn't expecting the grand shows he saw in Vegas, neither was he. Dean gave Sam money and encouraged him to try everything at least once. Sam did put some down on the roulette wheel and rolled the dice at the craps table but he was more interested in the video library of historical documentaries.

It was the next stop that Dean was truly interested in. Memphis. It was a full days travel up the Mississippi and Dean spent some of the day by the pool chatting up Connie, whom he had become intimately acquainted with the night before. The rest he spent in quiet time with Sam watching the scenery pass by, sharing silence and waiting for the stars to come out. After dinner they passed up the show and casino to sit on the deck, stare at the stars and watch the distance for the first signs of the city.

Sam had thought this no more than a casual 'whatever fun happened by' trip for Dean until he pulled up a deck chair next to him, watched the distance and asked, "What is it about this city Dean? I hope it's not Graceland? You know it's just a tourist trap don't you?"

"Of course it's Graceland." Dean sighed with a shake of his head, "Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding all come from Memphis. B.B. King, and Isaac Lee Hayes Jr. got their start there and a lot more. The blues, Sammy. It's the home of the blues and a big player in rock and role."

"You're right isn't Justin Timberlake from Memphis?" Sam asked hiding a smile.

"Anyone can produce a dud, Sam." Dean responded, "I still respect the city. I'm checking it out first thing in the morning. Come with?"

Dean joined Sam on all his excursions no complaints so Sam was not about to abandon his big brother now that the shoe was on the other foot, besides he honestly was interested. He didn't think his brother cared for anything besides Lead Zeppelin, ACDC and Black Sabbath. After a hearty breakfast with a side of taunting the bankers, Dean hit the road for Graceland. Sam was expecting tacky and or weird and was not disappointed. Sam couldn't help thinking there was something vulgar about putting a man's personal life on display but as they walked past the trophy and award section of the tour Dean displayed a better knowledge of the King's musical history than the tour guide. He took Sam to all the sites of musical interest including the Music Hall of Fame, then announced they were going to get the best burger in all Memphis.

"The best?" Sam asked skeptical.

"The sole burger at Ernestine and Hazel's is legend and it has the greatest jukebox." Dean explained as they headed down town, "It's also supposed to be haunted. It's a big thing in this neck of the woods. I think every other house in the south is haunted." He finished with a hearty laugh.

Sam didn't know why he was surprised when they found Ernestine and Hazel's. The best burger in all Memphis could only come from a dilapidated old bar, a place where Dean felt completely at home. Sam did not object when Dean ordered soul burgers and beer for both of them. They had been dining on finer foods since the trip began and Sam was happy to indulge himself. It was one of the finest burgers Sam had ever eaten so it wasn't surprising when Dean ordered a second but Sam was concerned when Dean suggested they take a turn at the pool table. There were too many rough and ready types around who wouldn't appreciate being hustled.

"No chuckle head, we play a few games for fun." Dean said gently shoving Sam toward the pool table, "Or we could make a bet, like you do the laundry for a month after you loose."

"Don't be so sure, I play pool at the Underground all the time." Sam accepted the challenge.

"With college kids?" Dean laughed, "They play pool on my level?"

Dean saw Sam's smile slip momentarily which confirmed his suspicions. Not even close. Dean was about to sweeten the bet when he was hit with a wave of cold black rage emanating from a stairway. He turned to a waitress and asked what was upstairs and was told it was where the brothel had been.

"This was a brothel fifteen years ago. There's rooms up there, nothing's been changed since then." she said, "Tourists like to go up there and look for ghosts."

"Well we're tourists, come on Sam let's have a look." Dean said putting on a big 'I'm a gullible tourist grin'.

"What about our game." Sam asked disappointed.

"Later dude." Dean kept his smile in place but grabbed Sam's arm and practically dragged him up the stairs.

"Dean?" Sam asked annoyed.

"There's something up here."

"Yah, a bar." Sam griped.

"Not now Sam."

Sam and Dean moved silently up the narrow stairs to a second floor lit in dull red light. The classic 'Dock Of The Bay' filtered up from the jukebox. The dull red light and soulful music set the perfect mood for snooping. To the left was a dingy corridor of doors. Dean stopped and opened his mind to 'feel' the air. The cold rage was without a doubt radiating from the back.

Sam's eye's narrowed as he watched Dean move from room to room. He knew the look, the careful steps the eyes darting everywhere, back always to the wall, Dean was in hunter mode. In the middle of their vacation Dean found a hunt. All the relaxed easy fun times they were having, Sam should have known it wouldn't last. Where ever Dean went he would find a hunt. It's what he was, it's what he did. And Sam was furious. In silent hostility Sam followed Dean around until they came to a room much like the others. A double bed, a dresser with a mirror and a chair, all very unadorned. Dean began opening the dresser drawers and riffled the few pieces of old dusty cloths and yellowed lace.

Dean slowly turned around to face the empty room and smirked, an evil glint in his eyes and said, "Hey bitch, this your shit?"

Sam felt the temperature in the room plummet, "Dean?"

On the far side of the room a woman with pail pasty skin and dark sunken eyes appeared. She was a tall slim brunette in panties.

"Get out!" the apparition shrieked.

She flickered in and out as she advanced on Dean screeching again and again 'Get out'. He waited until they could almost touch, then threw a stream of salt at her and with a cry she vanished.

"Let's go." Dean said darting out the door.

Dean knew he was in trouble when Sam didn't say a single word all the way back to the boat but he had no time for any ill temper. They only had one day to finish the hunt before they sailed and he had no intention of missing the boat. He took out a sheet of writing paper and made a sketch of the girl he saw and slapped it in front of Sam.

"You check news paper records for this girl probably died before 1990. I'll look for unusual deaths over the past fifteen years."

Dean stepped out into the hall and drew a carafe of coffee from an over-sized urn that was always available in the hall. He poured himself and Sam a cup then sat down to his computer. As Dean began his search, Sam opened his computer and turned it on them slammed the cover down.

"I can't believe I'm working a job." he snapped.

"Yah, you'd think I could go ten days without stumbling onto a hunt. Sucks big time." Dean tried the sympathy approach.

"Well I'm not doing it." Sam declared with a pout.

"I've got thirty-six hours to solve this Sam. You could give me a few hours of your precious time." Dean growled.

"No, we're not working on our vacation." Sam decreed.

"If that spirit isn't hurting anybody I'll walk away but Sammy no spirit that angry is playing nice." Dean answered after a long temper controlling silence.

"This is a vacation, you don't work on a vacation." Sam argued reluctant to give up the fun and comradely they were sharing. He hadn't felt so relaxed and optimistic in six months and that Dean and his vacation had brought this on made it all the more dear to him.

Dean paused from his typing to draw in heat from the air and send it to his muscles relaxing them and kept his breathing slow and steady. The anger management technique grew easier every time he did it. It eased the tension in his body and allowed him to react slowly and with thought but it didn't dissolve the anger completely. Nothing seemed to do that.

"Sam if people are dying in that bar I'm not walking way."

Sam growled, "There isn't any law that says you have to hunt every spirit or monster you come across. Call someone else to do it."

"Yes there is." Dean snarled pounding his fist on the bar, "It's the same law that makes a doctor stop and help someone on the street who's having a heart attack. What would you think of a doctor that just let a man die."

"You're not a doctor." Sam cried.

"But if I walk away someone might die." Dean retaliated, "It matters to me when innocent people die especially when I could have prevented it."

"Why does it have to be your responsibility." Sam countered but much of the wind was out of his sails.

After a thoughtful silence Dean answered, "Because I can."

Sam wasn't sure what Dean meant by that statement but there was something very deep about it that made him stop and think. He stared at his computer lost in thought until Dean turned his, so Sam could see the screen. A year ago a recent college graduate celebrating his first job at an add agency broke his neck falling down the stairs. It didn't qualify as a mysterious death but it was something to look into. Without another word Sam opened his computer and began searching the net for any sign of the girl.

It took a few hours and a late night snack from room service before Sam found the little brunette. The victim known to patrons of the bordello as Star was identified as Stella Cochran a twenty year old girl, who had been on the streets since she was fourteen. The pretty brunette's photo found buried on the third page of the crime section of the local paper was too heavily made up and was accompanied by a very brief uncensored story of her tragic death. She was found wearing only silk panties, under the window of the brothel with bruises on her face and torso and a broken neck. Sam had the feeling from the little article that the writer had little sympathy for poor Stella. The underlying message was, 'she got what she deserved'. The police called the death suspicious. 'Well duh' Sam thought. As far as Sam could find the crime was never solved.

In that time Dean found two more deaths by broken neck. One flew out a window, dubbed an accident and the other fell off the roof a possible suicide. It was a two story building. How many people jumped only two stories to kill themselves …, and succeeded? The Memphis police were not known to be fools, was it the neighbourhood that sparked so little interest. Ernestine and Hazel's was not in the best part of town, or even the second best. By the time Dean turned off his computer he found two more, five in four years, not a crime spree but the fact that they all had the same cause of death should have had someone asking questions even in a run down juke joint that doesn't come to life until midnight. To a hunter it was confirmation particularly considering the spirit died of a broken neck and the deaths began after renovations in the bar. 'Renovations? In what style, early urban decay?' Dean wondered absently.

"Looks like we definitely got something." Dean sighed, he really didn't want to work on his vacation, "This so totally sucks. I really wanted to enjoy Memphis."

"Well you did, for a little while." Sam said sympathetically, "You got to see Graceland and the Music Hall Of Fame. You even got to eat a soul burger."

"Yah, not bad." Dean agreed, "Sammy I have to go to the police station and get those reports first thing in the morning. Would you find out where she's buried?"

"No problem." Sam agreed.

Feeling the need to make up for his earlier complaints Sam not only located the grave but did a brief survey of the potters field. She was laid to rest with nothing more than a number for a grave marker. The condition of the sad plot of land set aside for the impoverished, the nameless and unwanted betrayed the lack of care and concern showed most of it's residents. Only a few graves showed signs of attempted care while most were overgrown and neglected. Was it any wonder someone laying here would be angry. It was well Sam checked the area, for the marker was so faded Dean would never have been able to find it in the dark. He also found a beat up shack on the property housing shovels. The riverboat would be leaving at dawn, Dean had only that night if he was going to continue his holiday. Sam gave the cemetery one last look and made a decision.

Sam was working at his computer when Dean returned with his pilfered files. Dean didn't make it to the table before Sam rose and made a call to room service for a couple of over-sized roast beef sandwiches for Dean. As Dean spread the files out on the desk he peeked up at Sam trying to gauge his mood but before he could take measure Sam announced he was coming with Dean to the cemetery.

"What?" Dean asked startled.

Sam smiled with pleasure at Dean's expression. How often did he catch Dean of guard?

"I had trouble finding the grave in daylight." Sam explained, "With the two of us digging it'll go a lot faster. Less chance of missing the boat."

"You don't have to do this Sammy. It's a simple salt and burn, I won't miss the boat." Dean let him off the hook.

"I know I don't have to." Sam replied and left it at that.

A close examination of the files and a few phone calls later Dean had no doubt the deaths were related to the spirit. To Dean's great relief evening meals had been casual after the first night. The second evening in Memphis a buffet of barbeque and fried chicken was offered and shorts and jeans were common. The kitchen wasn't expecting a big turnout as many of the guests were dining in town. More for me was Dean's attitude and with an evening of labour ahead of him he wasn't shy. Not that he was ever shy. Dean's lack of manners where always an irritant to Sam but on this night Dean's unrestrained, laid back manner was a comfort to Sam. It reinforce the idea that nothing could happen that Dean couldn't handle. After all it was a simple salt and burn and Dean could handle demons. What did Sam have to worry about? They were off the ship and digging by midnight.

sssssssssssssss

Tom Dickson and band stopped at Ernestine and Hazel's to toast their second country music record to hit number one on the charts. Being called the hottest new band since Lonestar after their single, hit number one on both the country and pop charts was cause for celebration. There was only one place to go, the club where they first made a name for themselves. Though Ernestine and Hazel's was known for it's remarkable collection of country and soul music on it's jukebox there were occasions when live music was called for and the owners were very generous in booking the Mason Dixon Band. Tom ordered the first round and popped some money into the box shamelessly playing their own song. It was a night of revelry and rejoicing. Their star was truly on the rise.

ssssssssssssss

The older the grave the harder the dig. The soil over Stella had just over a decade to settle, new by Dean's standards but Sam hadn't done this type of work in years. Thought not out of shape by any stretch of the imagination using his muscles in a way he hadn't in so long was a bit of a surprise. He didn't remember his back aching like this and so soon.

"You're out of practice, dude." Dean chuckled, "All that soft living in college."

"Bite me." Sam growled and Dean laughed louder.

They were only half way through and Sam's hands were sore despite the cloves and his torso was bathed in sweat but Dean wasn't letting up so neither would he. Not after that soft living crack.

sssssssssssssss

Three hours and countless rounds later talk at the bar shifted from hours of performing for the rowdy audience to funny mishaps and weird occurrences. Strange bumps and noises during ballads and cold coming from the stairs. It was a given that someone so familiar with the bar would begin talking about "the ghosts'. In all the performances in all the years they had never seen the ghost upstairs, oh yes strange dark shadows out of the corner of the eye and whispers seeming to come from nowhere but no one ever saw a real live ghost. Inevitably a chugalug contest was held to see who would go upstairs looking for the ghost and Tom always lost those contests. Tom stood at the bottom of the stairs charged with having to bring proof that he went into the last room at the back that was always so cold. The notorious haunted room. Tom didn't believe in ghosts, not sober at any rate. He was more worried about getting up the steep narrow stairs without falling down and breaking his neck particularly when others had. Slowly carefully he made his climb to the top without falling on his knees and staggered down the hall and into the last room. Damn it was cold not that he was feeling any pain but he could see his breath. Proof, proof, what kind of proof could he bring. Tom spotted the dresser with one of the drawers partially open with lingerie inside. No one could accuse him of having a black and pink camisole stuffed in his back pocket before he came up.

ssssssssssss

It was one in the morning when Sam and Dean hit coffin. It was not the most solid coffin in the world yet while Dean stood guard Sam had to wrestle to get it open. He was ready to snarl at Dean if he used the out of practise excuse one more time but irritation and tension left him as Dean dropped a lighter on the remains of unfortunate Stella, doused in salt and gasoline. In all an uneventful night of sweat and aching muscles.

"That was almost too easy." Dean huffed as he dropped the shovel by the grave.

To dirty and tired Sam didn't bother arguing. He just wanted a shower and a drink. The bottle Dean kept at the bar in their room would do just fine.

Sam awoke to the sound of the shower and the smell of coffee. The carafe sat on the table between the two comfy chairs with donuts and a paper. The coffee was still very hot and half a dozen assorted were on the plate unmolested meaning Dean hadn't attacked yet. Sam checked the time. It was seven o'clock so Dean slept late, a nice change of pace. Sam reclined into the big chair coffee in one hand and paper in the other and screamed as he spilled coffee on his lap after reading the headline.

_Tom Dickson injured in fall at Ernestine and Hazel's bar._

_Tom Dickson of the country band Mason Dixon was injured falling from the roof of Ernestine and Hazel's bar and eatery at one o'clock this morning. While celebrating their number one hit, 'When night falls' Tom decided to explore the second floor thought by many to be haunted. Shortly after one, patrons of the famous bar heard cries for help coming from the second floor. The other members of the band, several patrons and waitress Angie Thomson, charged up the stairs while Nat well known bartender and teller of tales rushed from room to room looking for the country singer. Nat said, "He came stumbling out of the back room terrified and headed for the nearest exit, the stairs to the roof. A cold gust of wind came out of the room and I'm not sure but for a moment I would have sworn a naked girl was standing in the hall. She was there and then she was gone. When I rushed upstairs to the roof she was there and Tommy was backing away from her toward the edge of the roof and damned me to hell if she didn't burst into flames. That's when Tommy backed up and fell off the roof."_

_Fortunately Tom Dickson suffered only miner scrapes and bruises and a broken ankle. Tom and the other band members were not available for comment. This reporter did discover one strange undeniable fact. Tom was found to have a very old pink camisole in his pocket when he arrived at the emergency room of Memphis General Hospital. The bands manager did admit Tom had been drinking heavily before going upstairs and only vaguely remembers finding the lingerie in one of the rooms. Perhaps the flaming naked lady wonted her camisole back. This reporter would be inclined to view this as just another of Nate's stories of mysterious happenings and strange occurrences if waitress Angie an employee of eleven years and several of the other more sober patrons hadn't repeated the story almost verbatim. No evidence of the flaming lady could be found either in the hall or on the roof but there can be no doubt this tale will be told at Ernestine and Hazel's for decades to come._

Sam reread the article several times before taking note of Dean's repeated inquires of what's wrong. Sam hadn't even been aware he had shouted. By way of a reply he handed Dean the paper. After a quick read Dean grinned dropped the paper and grabbed a doughnut before laughing.

"Son of a bitch that was close." he exclaimed around a Bavarian cream.

"Close?" Sam asked.

"My guess she went up in flames just before she broke his neck." Dean speculated, "She probably waits till the last minute and snaps the neck as she pushes them off the roof, out the window or down the stairs."

"Yah probably." Sam agreed recovering from his shock.

"To bad we can't send the guy a bill." Dean mused as he grabbed another doughnut, "So what are we doing today?"

Sam grinned as he replied, "I think you might want to put on your face first."

"Oh yah." Dean agreed absently as he grabbed yet another doughnut after warming up his coffee.

* * *

***Ernestine and Hazel's is a well known bar in Memphis, renowned for it's jukebox, ghosts and the soul burger and Nate is a popular bar tender who works there who is know for his tales of the supernatural however to my knowledge there have never been any suspicious deaths nor is there a band called Mason Dixon .**

****Though documentation disproves the stories told about Myrtle's Chloe the slave girl who poisoned the wife and children of the plantation owner and was subsequently hung, there is still many supported tales of the African American woman in a green bonnet and the laughing children.**

*****Riverboat cruses are common on the Mississippi however the only one that makes the round trip from New Orleans to Memphis and back is my Mississippi Queen. As a rule they're one way only. How inconvenient. **


	19. Chapter 19 Idle Hands

**I still don't own Sam and Dean and I'm way to old for them anyway.**

**Thank you all for your reviews, they are my inspiration to keep writing. Yes, Castiel and Gabriel will both be making a number of appearances in the near future as for the Guardian, stay tuned.**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**Idle Hands**

Sam was inclined to laugh at Dean's big kid attitude with his, 'What are we doing today?', every morning. As the ship turned south from Memphis and sailed to Vicksburg, a full day under sail, Dean slipped back into his happy go lucky tourist persona. He bounced from one end of the ship to the other looking for amusements. It was as if the job had never occurred.

A blues band good enough to satisfy even Dean, got on at Memphis and would remain until New Orleans. Later there would be dinner and a show then the casino would be opened and the blues band would be performing several sets in the lounge. Even with the break for the job six days into the vacation Dean's mildly hyper behaviour was beginning to grate on Sam. The morning after they arrived in Vicksburg Dean was chattering about all the different things they could visit leaning heavily on the civil war sites. Things he thought Sam might enjoy. Sam flopped back on the bed with a big sigh.

"Common, you're acting like this is the only vacation we've ever had." Sam whined.

Dean stared at him confused, "It is." he said. "Out side of holing up in a cabin somewhere to recoup, when have I ever been on a vacation?"

Sam sat up and looked up at him. My God that was true. The first few months at college were tough, lonely, but Sam rode it out and made friends. By Christmas he had made arrangements with a few others who were on their own and they spent the holiday season in a hotel in Vegas. For Sam a better Christmas than most and definitely a vacation. Since leaving home he'd had numerous vacations to the point where they had become common place.

"I'm sorry you're right." Sam stammered embarrassed.

He waited until Dean was finished in the shower then poured him a fresh cup of coffee. Usually he waited until Dean came out of the bathroom. He told himself it was to give his brother his privacy and there was some truth in that, but it was also true that it was hard to look at Dean without the makeup. Sam rapped on the door and stepped in with his offering.

"You can have it if you don't call me a jerk." Sam said with a shy smile.

"Okay." Dean took the cup with a big grin, "Bitch."

"Jerk!" Sam snapped.

"You're such an easy target." Dean roared laughing. "Will you ever learn to duck."

The discussion of ducking ended with both Sam and Dean in the tub with the shower running and who was the winner was up for grabs. Sam tried to claim victory because getting Dean under the shower was his goal and Dean was drenched but he was in a towel while Sam was dressed and Dean deliberately dragged him in.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself." Sam chanted but they were both laughing.

Tables in the main dining room weren't assigned as they were for the two formal dinners giving Sam and Dean ample opportunity to meet different people. Sam enjoyed conversation with new people however casual but he limited his time with these acquaintances. If he became distracted by someone interesting Dean would come by to remind him they had plans for the day and Sam never begrudged him. This was a get reacquainted with his big brother vacation and seeing the pleasure in Dean's face every time Sam said his goodbyes without complaint put a smile on Sam's face. He was not accustomed to his big brother taking such interest in things Sam cared about. They went on the Civil War tour in Vicksburg that included the museum and battle sights. Sam was not the history buff that Dean was but it was of interest and it was far from dull. Dean provided a steady stream of information regarding the strategies, motivations, personal idiocies and even the mistakes of the officers involved in the battles and occupation of the city. Sam couldn't help being impressed with how, by the end of the tour, everyone would look to Dean for interesting tidbits of information. It was also amusing to watch the tour guide sifting between irritation and respect.

Likewise when they toured historical homes and plantations Dean refused to tune out no matter how much he wanted to and made an effort to listen if not to the tour guide to Sam's comments. Sam liked to talk about the way people lived, the customs, beliefs and foibles of the southerners, as well as the laws of the time and injustice of the life of the slaves. It gave Dean some insight into the workings of Sam's mind. They ended the day with a haunted tour. Sam tried to hide his reluctance and Dean pretended he didn't notice. Dean made sure he had his home made EMF meter with him and snickered and joked about what was really haunting the homes which was what Dean was looking for in these tours. He wanted Sam to laugh at ghosts and hunting and managed rather well until the meter came to life at the McRaven house. Dean only shrugged and smirked. He hadn't heard of any death or destruction related to the house.

The McRaven house was built in 1797 by Andrew Glass. It was no more than a kitchen with a bedroom above. He sold it to Sherrif Stephen Howard in 1836 who added a dining room with another bedroom above. After the death of his wife he sold the house to John H Bobb who added the rest of the crand home in Greek revival style in 1849. At least five occupants have died inside the house, and John Bobb was murdered only a hundred yards away, after he threw a brick at 6 drunken union soldiers he caught picking flowers from his garden during the Union occupation during the civil war. It's also very likely that a few Confederate soldiers died on the property during the time it was used as a field hospital during the siege of Vicksburg.

There are reports of ghostly activity throughout the house, but the center of activity seems to be the middle bedroom upstairs, where Mary Elizabeth Howard, age 15, died during childbirth. Her ghost is believed to be responsible for the bedside lamp in the room, turning on and off, seemingly at will. Before it's current owner Leyland French bought the house and started living there in 1984, the previous owners who who had restored the house as a tourist attraction, were frequently awakened by calls in the middle of the night telling them the lights at McRaven had come on. Mary Elizabeth's ghostly apparition has appeared on the house's flying wing staircase, and in the dining room. While handling Mary Elizabeth's wedding shawl, some people say it emits heat, while others claim it about jumped out of their hands.

Current owner Leland French once saw the ghost William Murray on the staircase, and after realizing who it was, frightened he ran upstairs to the Bobb bedroom and locked the door. He later called a local Episcopal priest and had the house blessed. The spirits of Ella and Annie Murray are also said to roam the grounds of McRaven.

They had plans for dinner theater (Sam's choice) followed by a visit to a Vicksburg casino. (Dean's choice) As soon as Sam was in the shower Dean fired up his computer for a quick look at the McRaven house. He didn't have a lot of time as Sam wasn't one to linger in the shower and he didn't want to be late for the show. Dean wasn't expecting to find anything that would interfere with his evening of dining and gambling but he had to be sure. When Sam came out of the shower his smile dropped.

"What are you doing?" he asked an edge to his voice.

"Confirming what I already knew." Dean replied, "Are you ready to party?"

"Can you stop being a hunter, ever." Sam growled.

"Ask me to stop breathing." Dean sighed fearing a fight.

After a moments thought Sam asked, "Is this a hunt?"

"I said party not hunt." Dean groaned.

"Yah you did." Sam replied with a grin, "Let's go."

The pattern held for Baton Rouge. They saw the city through the eyes of tourists then partied at night. Sam learned a new respect for Dean's gambling talents at the magnificent floating casino's of Vicksburg and Baton Rouge where the stakes were higher and the gamblers were more sophisticated. After watching a show and playing a few slots just for kicks Sam took some time to watch Dean at a poker table where the buy in was a thousand dollars. There was none of the laughter, jokes or posturing Sam had always seen when Dean and their father played. Other than his trademark smirk Dean was quiet, patient and contemplative, all very none Dean like. Sam would check in on Dean every hour or so then return to the lounge show and the blues bar . With each check in he noticed Dean's pile of chips had grown and from time to time the players changed. By the time Dean cashed in not a single player he'd started with was at the table and Dean was up over five thousand dollars. It was impressive, then again few people could deal from the bottom of the deck or stack it with Dean's grace and ease and he always had at least two aces up his sleeve. Of course he would win. Sam set aside these thoughts as he a Dean when to catch a show.

Dean had little practise playing for these stakes against players who were trying to make a living at the poker table. Though the price of the rooms on the riverboat insured the guests could afford to loose, what was on the boat was a gaming room not a casino and the players were either just having fun or were deluded about their skills. They were the type that played poker once a month with the boss or their fellow stock traders, bank or add execs. Taking their money was easy and in some cases easier than the bikers and rough necks in the bars.

This was different. Though some were foolish or deluded armatures others were professionals, and he knew better than to underestimate them. Dean had twenty years experience to rely on yet so did some of them but he did have something they didn't. He knew what they were feeling. He knew when someone was nervous, existed, worried or confident. He could sense deception or satisfaction. He knew when to hold them and when to fold them.

Dean stashed the newly acquired wealth in the tiny safe in the bar. When he added the five thousand dollars he'd earned that night it tallied it up at nine thousand dollars in winnings. The trip almost paid for itself.

"How's that Sammy, over a thousand dollars an hour?" Dean cheered as he prepared for bed, "Not a bad night's work."

"Cheating people out of their hard earned money isn't what I would call work." Sam answered with a sad smile then watched all the fun and humour drain from Dean's face.

Cheating was a dangerous practice and with detectives and camera's everywhere, almost impossible to get away with in a casino. In the back room of a bar, or at least the bars Dean went to, cheating could get you killed. It wasn't worth the risk, not unless someone else in the game was cheating. He hadn't needed to cheat for years, many years. Even hustling pool was not a pure unadulterated cheat. The con was getting the pigeon to bet the farm and Dean did so with little conscience, but he still had to win the game. Yes it was sleazy and underhanded but once the bet was on and the game began, he still had to have the skill. Dean took a measure of pride in those skills.

"We covered this before?" Dean said after a long silence, "Talent, patience, skill, remember? I don't need to cheat and if I did I sure as hell wouldn't be stupid enough to try with security cameras watching my every move. Why do you think I can't do anything straight?"

"Dad taught you to cheat." Sam stammer astonished by Dean's response, "He always said make sure you win one way or another."

"Dad and I horse around having contests." Dean said, his anger diminishing, "It's just a game and I'll tell you something else. If dad would stay sober he wouldn't have to cheat either."

"Wow, I had no idea." Sam didn't hide his surprise, "Is the money in my bank honest too?"

"Not entirely." Dean admitted, "Gambling on line is illegal and I owe taxes on a lot of it. I'm thinking of paying just of avoid giving any agency reason to come after me. Problem is I need an address to file and after putting Bobby out so much I don't want to ask him for anything else."

"If I get a place next semester you could use me to file." Sam offered eager to see Dean completely legal in his dealings.

"It's a thought. Do you know anything about filing taxes?" Dean asked.

"I file every year." Sam said with a grin.

"Well dude, if you want me legal than I'll ask Bobby to forward whatever receipts he gets for me and you can do it." Dean dumped the job on Sam.

Dean's one and only motive in filing taxes was to gain Sam's respect. He had been listening to Sam's 'terrible life' speech. Sam couldn't reconcile himself to being a criminal and he was always complaining about the credit card fraud. Dean reasoned the less criminal he was the better and as long as he wasn't doing the paper work he didn't care one way or another. He was happy to turn the responsibility of the swelling account over to Sam. The most he ever held in his hands was two thousand dollars he'd hustled and saved to finance Sam's prom. He found a six figure account intimidating. As long as he had enough money for food, good lodgings and ammo, Sam could take the rest. He climbed into bed, turned off the light and touched the huge bowie knife under his pillow. Feeling the security, he closed his eyes ready to sleep.

"Dean?" Sam's voice called in the dark.

"Yah?" Dean answered.

"Maybe you could settle in Los Vegas." Sam suggested, "You could gamble every other night and get rich. You could spend the rest of your time watching big shows and chasing chorus girls. The perfect life for you."

"Sammy, why is it so hard for you to understand that I like my job?" Dean complained.

"Common Dean, only sick twisted people like the blood the violence and fear." Sam cried.

"Sammy, I may not be sick but I'm definitely a little twisted and it's not the blood and violence that I like it's the lives I save." Dean explained yet again, "There's also a little pay back for mom involved. Sammy I respect your choice, why can't you respect mine?"

"Because I don't think it is your choice." Sam replied with a little honesty of his own, "Dad never gave you a choice. He brainwashed you like he tried to do to me. I want so much for you to realise there are options. Hunting isn't the only life you can have."

Sam waited for a response but received none. He heard a rustling then footsteps and rolled over to look at Dean's bed. No, he wasn't there. The soft low light over the bar clicked on illuminating the stony face of Dean pouring himself a stiff drink. Oops, now what did I do?

"When are we going to stop doing this?" Dean asked after taking a big swallow, "Just because I don't agree with you doesn't make me wrong or stupid."

"I never said you're stupid." Sam snapped as he crawled out of bed, "You said yourself, you had to give up your dreams because of the way we lived. Dad took everything away from us and left us nothing accept his quest"

"I said I gave up my dreams because I had responsibilities." Dean barked then stopped to relax himself before he exploded, "There's a world of difference."

"I don't think there was." Sam argued, "Dad just dumped everything on you and walked away. There ended your dreams, your childhood, everything. Where was the choice?"

"I had choices just like every other kid in a bad situation. I could have asked for help. I chose not to." Dean retorted though he knew he never could have, for it would have denied him the thing he most wanted. His father's approval, "But that's not the point. Why are you so convinced dad was able to brainwash me when he couldn't do it to you. Are you so much smarter than me, so much tougher?"

"No that's not what I'm saying." Sam denied, "I was free to fight back, you weren't. Think about it Dean, when were you ever free to make a decision of your own. You have always followed orders. Something like that becomes a habit."

Dean was trembling with rage but he wasn't sure who he was angry with for Sam wasn't wholly wrong. He had become a hunter out of obedience to John and he did it because he believed it was the only thing a freak like him could do. As a hunter he was still a freak, but it made him important, he was a hero. He spent his entire childhood telling himself that, until he finely believed it. He may not have been much in his father's eyes but he destroyed evil that any other student in school could not stand against and survive. This too could be blamed on his father or at least Sam would. However unhealthy or even pathetic the reasons why Dean became a hunter, he still saw it as his choice.

Though there was a time when Dean felt the weight of his choice, the burden of the job, the one thing he never questioned was his suitability for it and in time he came to accept his role in life. With the prospect of preventing the pending apocalypse the shroud of futility he had begun to feel faded away. He again began to see his choice as a noble one, a mission worthy of respected and the fact that he wasn't fit for anything else was irrelevant.

The satisfaction he used to feel after killing something evil was back. Perhaps it was being in his younger self, his youthful soul merging with the damaged one, that gave him renewed vigour. Perhaps it was the opportunity to change the course of his families future. The why of this didn't matter either. He had hope and even a measure of faith in himself. It was something he never had before and Sam was stepping all over it.

What angered Dean even more was the depth of the pain Sam's comments inflicted on him. He could no longer let things role off him as he once had. The thick skin he had developed over the years of rejection, from his father, taunting by jocks, and those who called him white trash, had somehow become incredibly thin. He couldn't blame this on his younger soul. His armour had been practically bullet proof by the time he reached his twenties. Why couldn't he stop feeling so hurt and angry over so little. More heat, more calming of the muscles so taunt and strained.

"Sam, you're the mirror image of dad." Dean said feeling a petty need to return insult for injury, "Your way is the only way, your opinion the only one that counts. Dad tried bullying you into being a hunter, into thinking his way and following orders. Now you're doing the same thing to me.

"You know dad was trying to accept me as an equal." Dean upped the ante, "I had to belt him to get him to listen to me but he did and he was trying. He answered my questions, told me what he was thinking, accepted my input and even gave me credit for my ideas. It was hard as hell for him, he growled and complained but he worked at it. Are you going to wait until you're fifty before you give me any respect?"

"No Dean it's not like that. I'm not trying to brainwash you." Sam snarled angry and maybe a little hurt, "Gambling and fixing cars make you happy. You could be happy Dean, doing what you love. Why is that wrong?"

"What the hell would be so great about fixing somebody's car?" Dean paused waiting for an answer, "That wasn't rhetorical!" he paused again but still Sam was silent, "Why should I turn my back on all the people getting ripped apart for the worthy profession of auto service?" Still no response, "What's the matter scholar, have I stumped you? How about this, who said 'All evil needs to thrive is that good men do nothing.'" he waited only a minute, "WHO SAM?"

"Edmond Burke." Sam choked out.

"Never heard of him." Dean said in a painfully low tone, then added, "But I totally agree with him." before storming out on the balcony with glass in hand.

Sam sat in his bed simmering. He was too hurt and angry to give credence to anything Dean said. Why did he have to yell? Why couldn't he sit down and discuss their differences like a civilized person? Why couldn't he see that Sam just wanted Dean to be safe? He was trying so hard to help his brother and all he got for his trouble was insults and abuse. Dean could make a speech about choices but there was a decided difference between what he said and the way he behaved. Sam was so incensed he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had his say. In as controlled and rational a manner as his anger would allow Sam joined Dean on the balcony.

"I came out here to be alone." Dean snapped at him.

"To bad. You don't get to fill me full of figurative holes than book before I can return fire." Sam growled back, "So it's all about nobility, you're on a mission for God. It's not about following the programming dad fed you all your life? Then why do you drink yourself to sleep every night and what are your nightmares about?" Sam gave him both barrels.

With every word from Sam, Dean's grip on the glass grew tighter and tighter until in shattered in his hand.

"Dean?" Sam started alarmed and grabbed Dean's wrist.

Dean shook him off then bolted to the bar to rinse his hand in the sink and get another glass.

Sam headed straight for the first aid kit in the bathroom, plopped it down on the bar and reached for Dean's bleeding hand. Dean jerked his hand away and poured himself another drink.

"Dean give me your hand!" Sam demanded.

"Is that an order?" Dean snapped.

"I'm trying to help you!" Sam snarled in frustration.

"No you're not." Dean sniffed at him as he rapped his hand in a bar towel, "You're trying to make me over in your image which is just a little less offensive than dad trying to turn me into a Doberman pincher."

"Maybe when you realise just how close to a Doberman you are you'll understand I'm trying to help." Sam snapped.

"Do you listen yourself?" Dean growled as another eruption threatened, "You just called me a dog. Am I Pluto or Rin Tin Tin? Please say Rin Tin Tin. At least he's got style."

"I'm sorry, that came out all wrong." said Sam with genuine remorse, "I don't know how to explain what I see. You know, when dad was gone you walked so tall, so proud. You were large and in charge at home, at school everywhere. When he came back it was yes sir, no sir, I'm so sorry sir. Then he'd start knocking them back and you wouldn't even duck. It made me so angry when you let him do that to you."

"Sammy, I will never be able to make you understand why." Dean responded starting to settle down "You've got to get over it and stop judging me by what was." then he added as an afterthought, "Or maybe you shouldn't judge at all."

Sam slowly reached over and gently took Dean's hand. This time he didn't fight. Dean had given him food for thought and now amid the quiet Sam began to think about it. Edmond Burke's most famous line rang painfully true and he shouldn't judge had merit as well. But what about Dean? The fact remained that their father had stolen his childhood and crushed his dreams and he was well on his way to drinking like their father. It seemed obvious to Sam that this life wasn't agreeing with Dean, it was destroying him.

"What were those dreams you had?" Sam asked.

"Sam hunters have nightmares. It's normal." Dean sighed reluctantly, "I have seen things few other hunters have, horrible things. I am drinking less than I used to and the nightmares should get better. It's an occupational hazard I accept."

"Well I'm glad to hear it's getting better but I meant what dreams did you have that you gave up?" Sam clarified with a grin.

"Oh, yah. Well, when I was a kid I wanted to be a fireman." Dean confessed.

"A fireman, that's so normal." Sam chuckled, "Saving lives, not a big surprise I guess. Did you ever want to be something that you wouldn't be putting your life on the line?"

"Well for a while I dreamed about becoming an AC/DC roady but every kid wants to travel with a rock band." Dean confessed.

"No, almost every kid dreams about joining a rock band but you of course had to be a little more realistic."

"No I just know my singing is not up to AC/DC standards." Dean chuckled, "Or any band for that matter and my guitar playing is damned weak."

"Dean, did you really punch dad?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"First I shoved him into a wall and then I hit him. It was all pretty much self defence, but, well I was really pissed too." Dean said with a shrug and a groan.

"Wow, that's so hard for me to imagine." Sam marvelled, "Seeing you stand up to him at the roadhouse really blew me away. If I hadn't seen that, right now I'd be waiting for the punch line. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm judging you by the guy I knew when I left for college. Maybe you've changed since then."

Dean nodded and smiled but the rumbling inside him demanded just a little more, "I have Sammy, but more to the point, I've always kept a part of me to myself. You've never really known me that well."

It wasn't Sam's fault

Dean created a persona of indifference, insolence, and above all arrogance a long time ago. The foundation was based on the simple fact that he knew something others didn't, and he could do something they couldn't. That made him important even if they all thought he was a freak. Even if he agreed that he was a freak, he was still special. Or at least his father was training him to be some one important so the personality he created was. Dean began to create Mr. Cool in grammar school and donned him hiding the fear, loneliness and insecurity that came with caring for and protecting a child while being a child no one was caring for or protecting.

By the time Dean reached high school he had moulded, shaped and fine tuned Mr Cool until he fit like a kid leather glove. There was a swagger in his walk, he wore a perpetual smirk of which he had several to offer and tended to laugh at jocks more so than geeks. Geeks were teased but not in a cruel fashion and all girls were graced with attention and flattery without prejudice. Mr. Cool didn't care about school and academics, that was a given. Dean stuck his report card in a pocket praised Sammy's straight A's and signed it John Winchester then signed his own A's and B's while Sam was watching TV. It would have been embarrassing if Sam had seen it. At home he allowed himself to be a little more brotherly, a little more caring. He always tried to be Sam's big brother.

Dean found that by the time he started high school he really didn't know how to take the costume off anymore. He didn't know where it ended and he began. It was armour he cocooned himself in to fend off insult and injury from any source. He could walk down the halls of every new school as students stared at his strange second hand cloths and listened to his accent that never sounded right. He walked into shops drawing suspicious stares from owners and clerks waiting for him to steal something just because of his shabby appearance. Dean laugh at them for challenging him, then stole something out of spite. Dean could huddle behind Mr. Cool who didn't give a damn what anybody said and listen to his father spend an hour even two telling him everything he did wrong while John was off on a three week hunt.

It was all a lie of course. Mr. Cool wasn't made of Kevlar, but Dean could stand there and take it without flinching and by the time it was over he'd jammed the sour simmering ugly mess in his stomach down a well and slammed down the iron lid. Mr Cool had become an important part of Dean. He made it possible for him to build on his strengths step back and take pride in them however vulgar they seemed to be and walk tall, proud and arrogant every bit a Winchester. But who was he, what part of him was real?

Dean didn't know that it mattered anymore. The man he was now, was who Sam had to come to know and respect and how he came to be was immaterial. Their common future depended on it, yet Dean feared he wasn't fairing very well. He was stumbling and bumbling and he wondered if perhaps he was alienating Sam with his demands and tantrums. If this was the result of Lucifer's curse than the devil had played it well.

Sam surprised Dean by nodding in agreement. Dean romancing the ladies, Dean hunting, Dean gambling, was very much the brother Sam knew, as was Dean worrying about him and barking orders when they disagreed. Yet there was so much Sam had never seen before. Was it possible these aspects of Dean were always there and he simply hadn't notice? Dean standing up to dad was definitely never there before much less hitting him back but had the rest always been there?

"You've given me something to think about." Sam admitted as he finished dressing Dean's wounded hand.

"Let's call it a night." Dean smiled back as he climbed into bed and turned out the light.

After a few minutes of silence Sam asked, "Can I ask you something?"

"No!" Dean snapped and Sam burst into laughter.

"Bitch." Dean snarled.

"Jerk." Sam called back still laughing.

Dean allowed himself a few chuckles as he drifted off to sleep. Maybe not so stumbling.

* * *

**I know a short chapter but I simply had nothing more to say about the holiday.**

***A number of states have casinos aboard ships anchored in rivers to get past the laws regarding gambling. Some of them are quit magnificent.**

****Annie and Ella Murrey lived alone in the the McRaven house without any convinces other than a phone and no outside contacts other than their doctor. It was sold in 1960 by Annie to Leland French in1960 when her sister Ella died at age 81 and she moved into a nursing home and Mr. French restored the home and opened it to the public as a tourist attraction for 24 many years. Claims of supernatural activity continue to this day.  
**


	20. What I Did On My Summer Vacation

**I do not own Sam and Dean, they are merely on lone.**

**A special thank you to all those who so generously reviewed. Your kind word keep me writing.**

**I confess I am not as pleased with this chapter as I was with my past work but I hope you find some enjoyment in reading it.**

**Congratulations to Lala for submitting the 100th review. It is a special moment for me as well.**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**What I Did On My Summer Vacation**

The boys took an extra day of rest and recreation in New Orleans before they hit the road to hunt. A fling was needed after they butted heads. Some loose yourself, good fun would wash away anything that lingered after the the quarrel. Though Sam was not one to paint the town red they were in New Orleans. Who could arrive on that cities docks and not hit the night life? Though Dean tried to sleep in he was up hours before Sam and took the opportunity for a bit of training. Dean met Castiel a couple of blocks from the motel and they began a run through the back allies of New Orleans. Fences and dumpsters became obstacles to leap over, low buildings were scaled and he leapt from roof top to roof top then dropped to the ground when he ran out of building. The parking lot Castiel leapt over was too long. Dean waited in the lot for Castiel to return a little annoyed by the show off.

"Did you think I was going to be able to do that?" Dean asked annoyed.

"You may, some day." Castiel assured him.

"Right." Dean said with scepticism then asked, "Hay Cass, how are you with curses?"

"Explain." Castiel stated.

"Lucifer cursed me and I'm having trouble dealing with it." Dean answered and Cass's head tilted in that bird like way that said he was confused, "The curse is affecting me, the way I act."

"Do you remember the exact words of the curse?" Castiel asked.

"_The aberrations and defects, the impurities and corruption of your body and spirit shall arise awakening the beast that is your true nature. In this befouled state you will be trapped in a war you can never win till I walk this earth again._" Dean repeated it world for word, "He laid that on me in the oracles temple as I was dieing. Since then I've been having a lousy time trying to control my temper. Things used to role off my back, I could take the hits, but now things I never cared about are making me blow up in Sam's face. Gabriel said it's because of the curse. I've used every technique in the codex to try to control myself but it's not even close to enough. Is there anything you can do to help?"

Castiel silently repeated the curse then slowly shook his head, "I do not know what I can do to help you. Perhaps you should speak to Gabriel again."

"Yah I was thinking that myself." Dean agreed and ducked into the first empty warehouse he could find.

He quickly drew the summoning circle on the floor, this time without the trap, and began the Enochian chant. Dean wasn't half way through when the Archangel appeared in the center of the circle looking a little peeved.

"What is it with you people and ritual? Couldn't you just call me?" He demanded his facial expressions punctuating his every word, "And do something about your timing. I was in the middle of someone."

"If I thought you'd answer I wouldn't bother with all this." Dean smiled back.

"Gabriel, it's been a long time." Castiel greeted his brother.

"Castiel, how are things at home?" Gabriel asked.

"Little changed." Castiel admitted.

"Then it hasn't been long enough." Gabriel said with a role of his eyes then turned to Dean, "So what about you. You'd better have a good excuse."

"Same problem I had before. My temper is out of control." Dean replied, "I'm using the codex's self discipline training, and Cass has been coaching me, but I damned near clocked Sam the other night. I was totally pissed and for no good reason."

Gabriel groaned with exasperation, snapped his finger and a bar covered with sweets of every kind and a couple of bottles of champagne appeared out of nowhere. Gabriel smiled at his creation, poured himself a glass of champagne and sampled his sweets. Without waiting for an invitation Dean climbed on to a stool beside him and began popping treats into his mouth. Gabriel eyed him with some annoyance.

"We've had this conversation. Whatever you've been burying all these years is coming up." Gabriel whined annoyed with having to repeat himself, "All those walls you built over the years don't exist anymore. You're giving your brother a dose of the real you."

"I never hurt my brother." Dean barked, "Teased him, played jokes on him like any big brother, but I would die to protect him, hell I'd kill for him. I did, without a second thought and no regrets."

"Look shit for brains, it doesn't matter how much you love your brother, in fact the more you love them the more they can step on your heart." Gabriel said as if it should have been obvious, "Just how good are you at lying to yourself anyway?"

Dean was about to give him a curt response when he stopped and thought about it. He told Gabriel himself, 'Nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family.' Dean had been hostile toward many a person but none could profoundly touch him like his family. The question begged, how much had he buried deep inside himself …, and how did he deal with it.

"I'm probably the best liar you ever met." Dean answered Gabriel, "What I'm really lousy at is looking in the mirror. I've never been one to blame anybody but myself for my problems. I just don't know, I mean what am I supposed to do get psychoanalysis?"

"You've got daddy issues, hey don't we all." Gabriel said with a dramatic dismissive gesture, "You have a brother who thinks he's better than you. Don't I know how that feels. If you can't just flash them the bird and walk, I don't know what to tell you except maybe tell Sam to prove how superior he is and laugh at him when he can't. Or are you afraid he can?"

Gabriel's expressive face was challenging him not laughing at him. Dean remembered Castiel knowing with just a look that he didn't believe he deserve to be saved. What could the Archangel be seeing in him? It was a scary thought.

"Thanks Gabriel, you've been a big help." Dean closed the discussion with a sincere expression of gratitude.

"Afraid to answer?" Gabriel asked.

"Don't have an answer." Dean admitted, "I don't know."

"You're Michael."

"What do you mean." Dean responded with a shrug.

"What makes you Michael's perfect vessel is you're like him, your personality." Gabriel explained some particulars Zachariah conveniently forgot to mention, "Warrior, natural leader, loyal, selfless, powerful and fast in a crisis. Your brother …"

"We've done this before, don't Gabriel." Dean warned.

"Smart, inquisitive, meticulous, committed, indomitable will." Gabriel ignored him and for a moment Dean was relieved, "Selfish and arrogant as hell. Pun intended."

Dean wanted to rage in Gabriel's face. He opened his mouth several times to tell the Archangel off but couldn't. Anyone else Dean would have but he wouldn't be able to lie to Gabriel so there was no point. Besides there was something there, a kinship between them. Gabriel knew what it was to be on the outside looking in at a family he couldn't connect with. Dean didn't see himself as Michael and didn't want to. He felt more like Gabriel, on the outside looking in.

"There's a lot of good in my brother." Dean insisted, "He damned himself to hell to save the world."

"It's not what you've got, it's what you do with it." Gabriel said making a dah face, "Family can cut you deeper than anyone else, and they can make you crazy. So what are 'you' going to do with it?"

"Give me a hint?" Dean misunderstood him."

"How the hell should I know, I ran away, you can't." Gabriel complained.

"The oracle told me to use the truth fearlessly." Dean said with a grin, "And to learn to love myself."

"Careful who you throw that truth at." Gabriel grinned back at him, "It could come back in your face with the help of a baseball bat. As for loving yourself, works for me."

"You think I should love myself?" Dean was amazed.

"No, I love myself." Gabriel laughed at him.

"Dick." Dean muttered but laughed as well then held up a flute, "To dead brain cells."

The flute became a high ball glass filled with fine scotch as did Gabriel's.

"To dead brain cells may we be completely fried before the end comes." he returned the toast.

"Father's message to Dean was to have faith in himself and he would succeed in stopping the Apocalypse." Castile misunderstood Gabriel and came to Dean's defence, "He does not want the end to come and knows Dean will stop it or he would not be sending messages to him through me."

"You know Castiel, I'm not sure I even care what dad wants anymore." Gabriel shocked his little brother, "I'm in this cause knuckle head here remembers me getting killed and I don't want that to happen. That's it. I love our Father, I do, but I don't understand him and I'm all out of caring."

"Absentee dad, been there done that. It sucks." Dean had to commiserate with Gabriel, "Dude, Sam's going to be up soon so I'd better haul ass. You've been a help, thanks."

"Whatever." Gabriel sighed and snapped his fingers.

The counter and Gabriel disappeared from Dean's sight leaving Castiel and Dean alone, or so he thought. Gabriel watched as Dean turned to Castiel and said, 'I'm so screwed.' and began to worry. This was God's instrument? HE was going to save the world from the Apocalypse? The world was screwed. What could their Father possibly be thinking?

"He was always a prankster but he's become more excitable lately." Castiel said of his brother.

"I guess that's why he became a trickster." Dean said with a shrug.

"Yes, it is in his nature." Castiel concurred then addressed the more immediate issue, "Why do you think we're, or at least you're screwed."

Dean began the long walk back to the hotel with Castiel in tow.

"Cass, I know why I'm mad at my dad but not Sam, not really." Dean confessed, "If I'm going to stop blowing up in his face I have to figure out what I'm so pissed about and get over it. I've never been good at that. Generally when something upsets me I just shove it somewhere in the back of my mind and ignore it till it goes away. Thing is it never really goes away, it just gets buried. Now all the shit I've been burying is coming up and I don't even know what it is anymore. This could be just what Lucifer planned. I'm turning into this raging head case and I'm taking it out on Sam."

"Perhaps recall can help you?" Castiel suggested, suspecting that was just what Lucifer had in mind too.

"How's that?" Dean asked ready to jump at any ray of hope.

"If you can recall what you were angry about you can resolve the issue. Is that correct?" Castiel explained his train of thought.

"Maybe?" Dean grabbed that offered ray, "Just might work."

As long as he was waking up at four in the morning there would be ample time to explore that but at the moment it was after seven and Sam was surely up. He was in the shower when Dean returned to the room. Dean pulled out the journal he had been working on, the one that listed jobs he remembered. He flipped through the pages only to have it hit him in the face. A quick search of the net confirmed the need to attend to it now.

Their first stop was a small California town called Jericho. Men were disappearing without a trace, off a stretch of black top just outside the town. The evening they arrive the boys checked the bridge for clues and spotted a woman jumping off. Dean had left the Impala a distance away, not wanting to be chased by his baby, and walked up the bridge but after the women fell the Impala lights came on and the car roared to life. Dean grabbed Sam and hauled him over the railing to the ledge. He had no intention of winding up in the river as he had before and he wanted to make sure Sam didn't either. The next morning they quickly found the article about Constance Welch's suicide after her children died in a bath. It didn't explain why she might be killing men on the road but it was a place to start. Dean asked Sam, if he would employ his superior people skills to interview Mr. Welch and suggested he make a point of finding out if the husband had been unfaithful. 'The different backgrounds, different ages and different everything would make sense if she's a woman in white.' he said. It turned out Dean's "hunch" was right and again Dean suggested Sam might stay at the motel while he dug up her grave.

"I promised you wouldn't do anything more than research and I meant it." Dean insisted.

At first Sam agreed as he didn't want to hunt. He wanted to stay away from the violence and the fear but thinking of Dean with no one to watch his back was even more unsettling. The sun hadn't set before Sam was telling Dean he was coming like it or not.

Dean wasn't using reverse psychology, he was leading rather than pushing. Trying to push his father into anything was an exorcise in futility, it was a Winchester trait. Dean could order Sam to help him and chances were good he would. 'Obeying orders was habit forming' and Sam had obeyed Dean all through his childhood but Sam would be resentful and eventually he would turn away as he had before. Sam had to choose to hunt for his own reasons and fear for Dean would always make him do that. Regardless of what quarrels may lie between them Sam would not turn his back on his brother in a time of danger. Dean smiled as he followed Sam out the door to dig up Constance Welch. Unlike Stella Cochran, Constance showed up to defend her grave. They were over half way to the coffin before she appeared and Sam continued to dig while Dean kept her busy. Fortunately Dean came away with only a few bumps and bruises and Sam despite his distaste for violence was glad he was there.

Now a few people who had died before wouldn't. Dean hoped that was a good thing. After a good nights sleep Sam and Dean sat down for a late breakfast at a Denny's and Dean started looking for another hunt. Sam frowned.

"Do you have to find one right now?" Sam whined.

"If I find one I find one. I'm not going to bust my ass looking but this is my job Sam and you should stick with me. Sharpen you're skills." Dean answered trying to sound casual without down playing his point, "November 2005 it hits the fan and you'll need an edge to get through it."

"Right." Sam sighed.

The chupacabra they dealt with in New Mexico was annoying but not horrifying. Rather like putting down a rabid dog, once you found the blasted thing. The poltergeist in Colorado was a bit harrowing but the worst injury was Sam's sprained wrist.

The most notable thing as far as Sam was concerned was the lack of fighting between them. Having never worked a job without their father Sam didn't know what to expect from Dean. Though Dean never had their father's overbearing way's when John was out of town Dean took his role as garden and protector very seriously and was not afraid to put his foot down if he deemed it necessary. Sam was prepared to struggle with Dean as he had with their father. After all, what other way would Dean know? At first he kept expecting the critiques and snapped orders. During the second investigation Sam returned from doing his research to find Dean sitting on the bed reading police reports and eating chilli fries.

"You've been to the library, town hall and hall of records?" Dean asked startled

"Yes." Sam answered trying to sound civil and waited for the third degree or some other cutting comment.

"Wow, fast work." Dean said with respect then added with a big grin, "Think I'll keep you around for slave labour."

"Bite me." Sam gave the expected response.

"Not if you paid me." Dean answered while stuffing more fries in his mouth.

"Do you want to check it out?" Sam asked.

"Check it out?" Dean asked his eyes wide a grin playing at his lips.

"My work." Sam snapped.

"Dude, you've been helping me with research since you were twelve." Dean pointed out, "Have you suddenly forgotten how it's done?"

"No I just …." Sam stammered.

"Just tell me what you found if anything." Dean dismissed the issue.

It was great to be treated like an adult, to be recognised as a mature member of the team by a member of his family. Unexpected yet very reaffirming. Dean talked, told Sam what was on his mind, asked his opinion and trusted his research. Sam would have hugged him if Dean were the hugging type.

Sam was always great with research, always thinking outside the box. It wasn't hard to give him the credit he was due. Dean could feel something pulling inside himself to rein Sam in, to keep him close, to protect him. Dean reasoned it was some part of his twenty five year old soul that hadn't accepted that Sam had grown to manhood. It was tempting to play the big brother, and in crisis he did, but he had to temper himself against the urge.

They ran into a complication when hunting a succubus in Nebraska. It decided to mate with Sam and would have succeeded if it had waited for Dean to return to the motel so it could put him to sleep. Dean heard noises coming from the room and peeked in the window. He new his brother had come back to the hotel alone, he always did. Sam was tossing and rumpling the blankets in the throws of passion, alone. A man having such a dream was hardly unheard of but Sam that active, not very likely, not when considering what they were hunting. Dean quickly discerned what was going on. He protected himself with a charm and marched in the room chanting in Latin to force the succubus to manifest then stabbed it with a blessed silver stake. 'Maybe you should start wearing a chain with a bunch of protective charms starting with this one.' Dean suggested tossing Sam the one he had rapped around his wrist with a casual shrug that annoyed Sam.

The troll in Ohio was heart breaking reminding Sam once again why he hated hunting. While he was very glad they stopped the vile creature from eating children, seeing the heads of it's victims on display in it's cave would give Sam nightmares for months to come.

The last hunt of Sam's summer with Dean took him to Kane Pennsylvania and an equally gruesome hunt. There was so little publicity over missing hikers and campers in the Allegheny National Forest, Dean almost missed it. It was mid August and Sam had started taking a more active part in finding hunts. Dean mentioned finding the little on-line news report about missing hikers and a few minutes later Sam found an other about a family of campers that vanished. It was speculated that a bear had attacked the site. But would a bear have carried off the campers? If it was a wear-bear possibly but more likely it would have taken the hearts and left the bodies. Sam and Dean tossed ideas back and forth on their drive to Pennsylvania.

It was only five hours from Newark Ohio to the National Forest in Pennsylvania. They rounded up all the information they could during the afternoon and settled down to dinner in the restaurant in the Ramada Traveler motel. While munching on his bacon cheeseburger, Dean went through the few very thin reports he stole from the police station and the copies of the permits Sam obtained from the ranger station, while Sam continued to search for more information on the web.

"Not having any bodies to check out is awkward. That's our best source of clues." Dean mused as he examined the reports.

"What do they have?" Sam asked.

"We have the Bakers, mom, dad and three kids seven, eleven and seventeen. They have some torn up tents, and signs of a struggle. " Dean answered, "And the four hikers, three college kids two twenty two years old one twenty and a fifteen year old sister. All they found was a back pack. That's it, they got nothing."

"Torn up tents, that sounds like something corporeal. The lunar cycle is wrong for a werewolf. What about a skin walker or black dog?" Sam suggested.

"I've never heard of skin walkers stashing the bodies but that doesn't mean it can't happen." Dean speculated, "They do like to chow down on hearts though. Black dog also possible."

"Oh hey, this happened before. In nineteen eighty one." Sam found old news reports and put his club sandwich down, " A group of ten high school students and two teachers went spelunking in caves in the forest that year and never came back. Before that in sixty seven an entire crew building a new ranger station vanished and it goes back even further than that. Apparently there's a legend that goes back to the early settlers of this area about a witch in the forest that kidnaps people."

Twenty three years sparked a memory in Dean. This could get very ugly.

"Sammy we could be looking at a wendigo." Dean gave him the bad news, "Why don't you look it up. I have to go get something."

Dean dropped money on the table and left the restaurant. The prospect of being hunted by a near perfect hunter was never appetising and less so with Sam out of practice. Lessons learned, Dean went to buy a couple of flare guns.

Sam had a little experience with skin walkers and found all the lore on black dogs. They were dangerous creatures to be approached with caution but a wendigo was one of most dangerous of all monsters. Even their father would not hunt one alone and refused to take Dean until he'd proved himself. Sam had returned to their room and was still researching all three when Dean returned from his shopping. When he handed Sam a flare gun he could see Sam was nervous and adopted a very nonchalant manner.

"We'll bring silver for skin walkers and black dogs and fire for a wendigo. We should be covered." he said.

He poured himself a drink and sat on the bed to relax. Even a casual study of Sam revealed he was somewhat on edge. It wasn't surprising, wendigo had that effect on hunters, at least the smart ones and Sam was smart. Maybe if he left Sam at home for this one he could call in divine assistance.

"Sammy if you want to sit this one out it's okay dude. You already did a lot more than I asked." Dean offered

"You're not going after a wendigo alone, no way." Sam refused.

"We don't know what it is." Dean countered.

"Every twenty odd years, and no bodies, come on Dean. Best guess is a wendigo." Sam said refusing to be placated, "You're not going alone."

"Okay Sammy." Dean seeing it was hopeless gave in, "When we find this thing you grab any civilians and haul ass. I'll cover you and take the thing out, got it."

"Dean don't start the kid treatment now." Sam snapped.

"What you are is out of practice." Dean snapped back, "Before this summer you hadn't hunted in three years and come to think of it, you only hunted for four years before that. You've been doing pretty damned good so far, but until you've get your grove you're the junior partner."

"Junior partner." Sam mumbled thinking it over. "My grove huh?"

"Face it Sammy, you've got some catching up to do before we're equal partners." Dean insisted but gently.

"So the day will come when we're equals." Sam thought about it.

"Frankly, I doubt you will ever be as good as me. But hey, there are few with my talent." Dean said grinning wide.

"Bite me." Sam retorted making a face.

In all fairness the only time Dean was heavy handed was in a crises, when discussions and debates were impossible. At any other time when they disagreed, Dean discussed the issue, well more like argued but always heard him out, and gave weight to Sam's opinion. He could live with junior partner … for now. On this hunt Sam was worried about Dean risking to much in order to protect him. More than once Sam had seen Dean getting gouged, skewered, or broken in the name of keeping his little brother safe. If one is reckless when hunting a wendigo getting gouged, skewered or broken could be a best case scenario but if Sam had learned anything over the past six weeks it was that without their father holding him back Dean had evolved as a hunter.

Sam and Dean identified themselves as Butler and Ward of the National Parks Service, sent to find out what kind of animal was terrorizing the area. They met with little resistance when investigating the disappearance but had no intention of advertising their hunting expedition. At five in the morning the boys were on the trail carrying clips of silver, consecrated iron and lead and the flare guns as well as a small propane tank converted into a mini flame thrower. The flare guns were great if they managed to get a shot off before it moved but up close the flame thrower would ignite the wendigo with only miner contact. It also acted as a deterrent against the monster coming to close.

Even at that early hour the air was warm and heavy with moisture. Though Dean was accustomed to hunting in any condition it was impossible not to feel the energy drain of the wet still air. Sam accustomed to cool breezes from the ocean tempering the humidity was not fairing any better. The heavy buzz of insects foreshadowed the rising heat. Neither were in a mood to talk but it really wasn't required. Though they'd been apart for years, as they worked together over the summer the boys found that a life time of navigating the corridors of the adult world, clearing it's hurtles and avoiding it's hazards had honed them into a single unit each one half of the whole. Four years of hunting had cemented the bond. They could communicate with a single glance and react to any threat as one.

Sam was never more grateful for this ability as he made his way through the forest peering through the trees for signs of movement and listening for anything out of the ordinary. Two hours in the forest they had reached the general area where the camping family had disappeared four days ago. The forest had fallen deathly quiet, not a buzz or a chirp could be heard. In the eerie silence, they began a zigzag search pattern looking for any clue that might tell them what happened or identify the monster they hunted.

There was something out there, Dean could feel it, something dark and hungry. It came to him in waves at odd intervals. He began moving north east. It seemed to be coming from that general direction but there was more. He didn't know what that more was and that worried him. It wasn't evil but it wasn't normal either. He knew they were moving in the right direction when the air began to taste of fear. It wasn't normal fear like a growling stray dog or denting the fender of dad's car fear. This was the unholy terror, variety of fear and the most important thing it told Dean was that there were survivors. Dean began to pick up the pace.

"You following a trail or something?" Sam asked.

"Yah signs." Dean answered, speeding up to a fair trot.

"Where is it?" Sam asked as he could see nothing.

Dean pointed in the direction of near by hills, "That way." he answered.

"That's not what I meant." Sam complained, but running in the muggy heat took all the argument out of him and Dean kept speeding up jumping logs and rocks and dodging trees until Sam had to yell to slow him down, "What's the rush?"

"There could be survivors." Dean answered, "Pick it up a little."

"Give me some open ground and I'll race you." Sam snapped.

Dean slowed to a halt as they came up to a cave entrance in the low hills. There were plenty of hills to be had around the Appalachia mountain range and no doubt they were riddled with caves. There was a smorgasbord of things coming out of the cave entrance, emotions, sensation, things that made his senses vibrate. At that moment Dean wished he'd spent more time practicing sensory discernment rather than memory recall. Sure the journal was filled with the jobs he'd done in the other life time but identifying what was in the air would be handy in dealing with the knew ones.

Sam and Dean took in hand the mini flame thrower that was hooked to their belts just in case and eased into the cavern ahead. The moment they stepped into the cave Sam and Dean both breathed a little easier as the cooler air touch their heated skin. It was still muggy but the heat factor was greatly diminished. It was a small cave with two tunnels leading deeper into the hills. Dean focused on each tunnel looking for the hunger and the fear and found them coming from the same tunnel.

"Why this one?" Sam wanted to know.

"There's air coming from the other one. It'll want to hide when hibernating. It'll go deep, not toward air." Dean made up something that sounded good, then put a finger to his lips.

Sam nodded, it sounded reasonable. He ducked his head entering the tunnel after Dean. The deeper they went the cooler it became, they were going down. This was working in their favour as breathing grew easier and their energy began to return. As they journeyed deeper the tunnels twisted and turned and occasionally branched into two or three. They were in a natural labyrinth of large dimensions that grew more confusing the further they went. Dean would pause and stare at each fork or branch until making a decision then dive in with no explanation. Sam wanted to question each choice growing more nervous with each turn. He was trusting that Dean was following 'something' but Sam wasn't seeing anything. Going on a hunch would only waste time and could end with them lost. The marks Sam was leaving behind wasn't a guarantee.

"Dean there isn't any trail, what are you doing?" he whispered.

"There's no trail that you can follow." Dean whispered back, "You'll learn."

That was just a little too cryptic and Sam was going to argue, when Dean raised a hand to halt. They were about to enter a chamber when a roar echoed all around them. The small chamber had only one other opening. Dean didn't wait for the echo to fade before dashing for it with Sam fast on his heals. They crawled a short distance coming out on a ledge more than twenty feet above the floor of an enormous cavern. It stretched out like the main chamber of the Taj Mahal. All around the cave seeping through the walls, was that strange something Dean couldn't identify and in the air was an odour akin to a dog yet not. Below, the floor was littered with human bones and an array of human artifacts, but most important of all were three live people. Behind and to the left was a larger opening from which the raging hunger was coming in like a powerful wind.

"Can you climb down there?" Dean asked pointing to breaks in the ledge.

"Probably." Sam took up the challenge.

"Good go get them tiger." Dean gave him a slap on the back then pointed to an opening in the main cavern wall to the right. "Try taking that tunnel and pray you find the trail."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked alarmed.

"I think there's something back there." Dean answered calmly, "I'll check it out and be right behind you. Your job's the civilians, I'm trusting you on your own Sam, don't let me down."

"You dammed well be right behind me." Sam demanded giving Dean a warning look before starting down the ledge.

Dean passed through a short hall of a tunnel that was a steep hill leading down into a chamber with half a dozen tunnels going in various directions. Dean focused on each one in search of the source of the hunger that filled the room and again found the strange not dog emanating from two of the openings. There was something there just beyond his sight. Dean pushed his fear for Sam to the side and inched forward looking for the specific source of the hunger.

It swooped into the room like a tornado just on the edge of Dean's sight. He felt it more than saw it and just in time to jump back and fire the flame thrower. He heard a howl of rage and felt claws rip across his shoulders but it didn't stop to finish him.

'Sam' Dean muttered in horror, it was going for Sam. Dean raced up the hill as if it was level. As he approached the ledge Dean could see Sam standing guard while behind him a battered girl cut a woman free of her bonds. Sam's jerryrigged propane tank spit flames in a wide arch while the flare gun sought a target in the whirlwind of motion around him. As Sam struggle to keep the beast at bay while waiting for his shot, dark figures holding lighted flares in each hand came out of the openings into the cave baring any escape route for the wendigo. There was only one route out left to the creature and that was up the jagged ladder of stone right behind Sam. Dean pushed off the ledge dropping easily to the cavern floor landing lightly between Sam and the wendigo. As he landed it turned to charge him. In that pause Dean fired but the wendigo moved faster then the flare and it was upon him in the blink of an eye dragging him to the craggy ledge. It had sense enough to grab the wrist with the flame thrower but Dean refused to let go in a futile attempt to set his capture afire. Dean hit the cavern wall with a horrible crash but he still had presence of mind enough to grab onto a jutting rock slowing the beast. The momentary stop was all Sam needed and the red and orange flame gave him a much needed target.

As the wendigo crackled and went up in flames Dean dropped to the floor grabbing his left arm. The dark figures that had begun to advance stopped. Not a word was exchanged, they simply froze in place as if waiting for a sign or signal.

Sam took little note of the group. His only concern was his brother lying crumpled in the dirt battered and bloody. Sam gently helped Dean lean up against the wall and began looking for injuries finding broken ribs, a head injury and a dislocated arm. Dean grumbled and grimaced throughout Sam's examination. Sam positioned himself on Dean's side, took his limp painful arm, said 'brace yourself' and gave it a purposeful yank. Dean's growled 'son of a bitch' sounded loud as it echoed in the cavern but he was too angry to be embarrassed by it. He struggled to his feet pushing Sam's helpful hands away the moment he was upright.

"What is wrong with you people?!" Dean roared at the dark clothed people gathering in the middle of the cave, "Were you planning on making my brother a sacrificial lamb or are you just stupid?"

The group came together, speaking so quietly even Dean couldn't hear them. Again Sam tried to attend Dean's wounds pressing a handkerchief to his bleeding head drawing more complaints from Dean who pointed to the survivors all now freed and huddling together lost and still very terrified. Sam nodded and went to them taking Dean's half empty canteen and the few candy bars he had with him.

As Sam became completely absorbed in helping the traumatised victims Dean turned his attention back to the group of strangers who had came together in the center of the cave.

"Are you new at hunting or do you just suck at it?" Dean yelled at the group silencing them.

After a moments silence a female voice answered, "We're damned good at it."

"You sure as shit could've fooled me." Dean snapped back, "The job's about saving people. If you can't get a handle on that concept get the hell out of the business."

The woman was about to respond but one of the men raised a hand silencing her. With a flick of the wrist he dismissed them and they began to retreat into the tunnels leaving the man alone in the center of the cavern. These people were the strange something Dean had been sensing since he entered the forest and he was more than a little apprehensive. What was it about them that gave him the peculiar tingling up his spine. It wasn't the usual fear shiver he felt when threatened from the shadows but was disconcerting all the same. Dean felt a trickling down his forehead and into his eye. Oh yah, Dean put Sam's handkerchief back on his gashed head.

The expression the one remaining man wore was one of restrained curiosity and mild amusement. He was as tall as Dean or perhaps a little taller, strong of build with gentle perhaps even soft features. His long hair, tied back in a pony tail, was a light brown streaked with copper and his clear blue eyes were almost as intense as Castiel's. There was something about them Dean couldn't make.

"We've always seen it as hunting evil." he said in a sophisticated British accent.

"Well I don't know how you do things where you come from but in our neighbourhood we don't herd the monster toward civilians." Dean snarled, "You could have killed them and my brother."

"The idea is to save people not feed monsters." Sam added then very pointedly turned his back and returned his attention to the survivors.

"I do apologize, it was not our intention. I'm afraid your presence in the tunnels prevented part of my team from coming down the ledge ." the gentleman said stopping his advance in font of Dean, "We were trying to surround it. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dixon Channing and you are?"

"Dean Winchester and that's my brother Sam." Dean introduced himself.

He considered asking Dixon what happened to the team members who were supposed to cover the ledge. He hadn't seen anyone up there or in the chamber. He had been right behind the wendigo and was still only just in time to stand between it and Sam. If they hadn't been there it might have been one of the survivors the wendigo have grabbed or it would have just escaped to continue to feed. Whatever the case it seemed damned sloppy to Dean.

"How long have you been doing this job." Dean asked rather than getting into an argument.

"Quite a while." He answered.

"Is that right." Dean sniffed but admitted, "I like the flare idea though."

"The flare gun impressed me." Dixon ignored the insult in favour of the complement.

Having seen how he reacted to assistance from his brother Dixon resisted the urge to help the young man and followed him to the huddled victims. This was his first encounter with hunters and he wasn't sure how to approach them. They were in fact little more than a myth amongst his people. He didn't know how they operated or if there were more in the area but he knew he had to find out. Especially if they were hunting in his territory. This was going to cause a stir at the next council meeting.

The survivors seemed to be coming out of their shock. They were the fifteen year old hiker Sara Patterson, who had been on holidays with her big sister, and Mrs. Baker and her eleven year old son Kevin. Mrs. Baker mumbled in a whimpering hiccuppy voice a few disjointed sentences about her older son and husband and the horrible way in which they died and in the midst of it she would ask 'Where's my Becky?' After some effort Sam managed to find out that the wendigo left her youngest behind.

"We'd better move" Dean instructed then looked up at the ledge.

There was no way on earth they were going to get these starved and battered people up that craggy ladder to the marked tunnels. Dean had known that when he sent Sam down but with the others in the tunnels Dean no longer liked going in blind. Dixon offered to lead them out and though Dean wasn't eager to trust him Sam pointed out they had no choice. Dean himself was having a hard time walking a straight line. Blurred vision, dizziness and nausea, he had a concussion but he kept it to himself as they weaved through the strange tunnels and chambers smiling when Sam announced he found one of their markers. Dixon looked around blindly, unable to see the mark. The Winchesters smiled but did not enlighten him.

It was late in the afternoon when they finely stepped out of the dark dank tunnels. The edge was off the heat and a cool breeze had picked up. Both Dean and Dixon paused and took out their cell phones trying to call for help and report the missing child. No signal, the hills. It was predictable.

"Go on without me." Dean told Sam, "Time is everything."

"Not a chance." Sam refused.

"You have to get these people to a hospital and start a search for the little girl." Dean insisted, "I'll slow you down."

"And what about getting you to a hospital?" Sam demanded.

"Some cracked ribs and a few gashes aren't going to kill me but every minute counts for them." Dean explained, "I'll wait here for you. It's the smart move Sammy."

"No, I'm not doing it." Sam refused.

"Go!" Dean resorted to orders, "Now Sam, move! I'm not asking, I'm telling!"

Sam glared his anger but did as he was told. Dixon who was carrying Kevin did not object to going with Sam. He suspected the younger man would be easier to talk to. Though the taller boy was hostile as they set out without his brother as time passed he began to speak but gave up very little. Dixon did learn that hunting was a family business but Sam had little intention of following in his fathers footsteps. Dixon told him, his older brother was also a hunter who tended to give unwelcome orders and that opened up the boy a little more. The young man admitted he was only spending the summer hunting and intended to return to college in a week. The thing that astonished Dixon most, was his mention of demons. His brother exorcised demons? This was going to require further study.

sssssssssssssss

Dean waited until they were well out of sight before closing his eyes and chanting in Enochian. He was genuinely worried about going to sleep with a concussion but Castiel could take care of that, couldn't he? The angel appeared beside him in only moments. Wasn't he supposed to appear in a dream, he always had before.

"You are not well." Castiel stated the obvious.

"Not in bad shape for going hand to hand with a wendigo." Dean countered.

"And yet you live. You're training has served you well." Castiel seemed impressed.

"Yah but it eat five people before we got here. That sucks." Dean sighed with regret, "And there's a little girl out here that it didn't take. It's been four days. I hope to God she's still alive. Could you find her…."

Dean was unable to finish his sentence before Castiel vanished and his eyes opened. He hadn't realized he'd dozed off. Castiel had simply recreated where he was in his mind. Before Dean had a chance to so much as rub his eyes Castiel was back with an unconscious little girl in his arms.

"This is totally cool." Dean grinned, "How bad off is she?"

"She will die today." Cass answered without emotion.

"Can you heal her?" Dean asked crest fallen.

"She will be haunted the rest of her life by what has happened here." Castiel pointed out, "She would be happier in heaven."

"I've been in heaven, here is better." Dean insisted, "Common, pull her back from the edge and heal my concussion so I can take her out."

Castiel's head tilted to one side in confusion, "Heaven may not be paradise to you but it is to others."

"It'll be hell on earth for a mother who's on the ragged edge." Dean countered, "They'll learn to deal as a family." He paused and gentled his tone, "Please Cass, she'd just a little girl who hasn't had a chance to live yet."

"Very well." Castiel conceded and handed her to Dean.

Dean almost collapsed from the pain in his ribs and the swimming of his head. Cass touched first the little girl and her shallow breathing grew stronger. Castiel then touched Dean's forehead and the headache and nausea left him. Before Dean could thank him, Castiel disappeared.

"Thanks Cass." he called to the wind then muttered 'I should have mentioned the ribs.' as he set out to catch up with Sam.

Castiel didn't go far. He had seen much in the forest and thought it wise if he stayed close by. It had been a long time since the Angel had encountered the Nasiru Barbaru and he had no idea whether they would view Dean as a friend or foe. Castiel had been told to train him but not to interfere. He reasoned if he stopped the Nasiru Barbaru from harming Dean he was interfering with the Nasiru not Dean. The Angel knew he was splitting hairs but didn't care. Dean was his friend and the one chosen by God to stop the apocalypse and there was where his loyalties lay.

sssssssssssssss

Sam had one arm around Sara and the other around Mrs. Baker but even with the water and chocolate they had been given the women were still very weak. Though Dixon carried the young boy he had a hand on the arm of Mrs. Baker providing support but it was still a lot for Sam to manage. It had taken Sam and Dean most of the morning to find the cave entrance. As they had used a criss cross search pattern to find the entrance, a direct route out should have been much quicker but at the crawling pace they were setting it was going to take hours to reach the nearest ranger station. When Dixon wasn't pestering him with polite conversation and get to know you questions Sam took the time to take note of the survivors. The hikers had been taken first yet the wendigo passed over the girl in favour of eating Mr. Baker and his teen-aged son. The question was why. It was a morbid mental exorcise but Sam needed something to occupy his mind so he wouldn't think about Dean battered and bleeding sitting all afternoon by the cave entrance awaiting rescue. And Sam wasn't blind, he could see how unsteady Dean was on his feet, which suggested a possible concussion. He would have turned back if he though the other hunter could make it alone. He was still seriously considering it. Size, it finely came to Sam. The two small women and a young boy were all very small. The wendigo just ate the biggest first and he didn't even bother with the little girl. Okay, that little puzzle was worked out now for another distraction.

"Rest." Sara mumbled, "Please rest."

Sam eased them both to the ground and pulled out his cell phone to try and reach the ranger station again. No luck, my kingdom for a satellite phone.

"I don't suppose you have a satellite phone?" Sam asked Dixon.

"I foolishly didn't bring it." He lied.

The others would be well out of the forest very soon, safe from discovery. Could he suddenly remember he did have one or would that be stretching credibility to far? His attention was drawn to something not far behind. Dixon gently put the boy beside his mother and rose to investigate.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Some one or something is following us." Dixon answered.

In all his years of hunting Dixon had heard only once of a wendigo sharing it's territory with another. Speculation was that it was a couple that had cannibalized others together. It was just a theory and very far fetched but the fact was there had been two. Those worries quickly vanished as he caught the cent of a man following them, and more a female perhaps a child. He moved silently toward the coming footsteps ignoring Sam's hushed calls to return. The distance was short and the discovery surprising. Dean plodding slowly along his face dripping with sweat, pain evident in his handsome features. The surprising aspect was the bundle he carried in his arms. Dixon didn't even ask permission to take the child and Dean didn't argue.

"Sammy." Dean called knowing he would be waiting for them pistol in hand.

"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed at the sight of Dean and the little girl.

"I went looking for water and found her instead." Dean answered the unasked question, "She's bad off Sammy we should get moving fast."

With both surviving children in hand Mrs. Baker found renewed strength. She needed little encouragement to keep walking pushing on determined to see her son and daughter to a hospital. For Dean it was a long walk. Sam had picked up Kevin giving Dean the easier task of providing support for Mrs. Baker and Sara but it was still a strain. Dean uttered not a word of complaint. Carrying Sam out some ten years ago had been far worse yet he was much relieved when Dixon found a signal as they grew closer to the ranger station. Dean called for help and turned on his GPS.

They were met by a team of rangers in little time but the helicopter to air lift them out was almost half an hour. Dixon slipped away at first sight of the rangers. Sam and Dean would have liked to make a quick exit but Sam insisted Dean get X rays. In the name of peace Dean didn't argue, besides some painkillers would be nice.

ssssssssssssssss

Sam buzzed around the motel room packing his belongings and ignoring Dean's objections to his help. The X rays revealed a few cracked ribs but the dislocated shoulder was healing fine and the head wound was of little consequence. Still Sam would fuss. Dean would have found the knock on the door a happy distraction where they not worried about having stayed to long. Dean wasn't going anywhere fast so he waited for Sam to tell him whether he should make a dash for the bathroom window. Sam looked at him puzzled by what he saw.

"It's the other hunter, the one with the team that disappeared into the woods." Sam said a hint of wonder in his voice.

"Is he alone, any cops?" Dean asked.

"No just the hunter and I use the term loosely." Sam answered.

"I wouldn't mind finding out who exactly he is." Dean decided with a shrug, that hurt.

* * *

Demons, Carla said it had to be talk. Hunters were fanatics who thought they were on a mission from God or hate filled savages seeking revenge on every supernatural thing in the world, or so the lore was. Bragging would be a natural part of their lifestyle. Carla suspected they're exorcisms if they were in fact performing any were doing a lot of harm to innocent human beings who needed psychiatric help. Carla had been greatly offended by Dean Winchesters condescending remarks but what she said was very much what most of their people believed, if in fact they believed in hunters. Any doubt would be set to rest now. Dixon couldn't ignore the questions raised by what he saw. The taller one Sam standing between the wendigo and the women refusing to give ground, the blond Dean hurtling himself from the cliff. His speed, agility and reflexes where superior to any human being he'd seen in some time. He had once seen humans who could fight like that, but it was so long ago and after time one wonders if the memory is a little askew. Whatever the case may be Dixon would not walk away from an opportunity to speak with these hunters who's existence until this day had been little more than rumoured. The tall younger brother answered the door with a causal smile and invited him in.

"You took off so fast we weren't expecting to see you again." He said by way of a greeting.

"I do like to stay under the authorities radar." Dixon freely admitted, "And you?"

"They think we're investigators from the National Park Service." Dean explained, "That could wear pretty thin very soon so we gotta book."

Dean tried to reach for something on the wall, gasped and was told by Sam to sit the hell down and leave it to him. Dixon took a closer look at what Sam was ripping off the walls and stuffing in a trash can. There were printouts of newspaper reports of missing people dating as far back as nineteen twenty. His researchers hadn't gone back that far. Included in the crop of clippings was an article on a legend about a witch in the forest. Dixon would have to give them credit for digging that up. These boys were good. They had somehow acquired photo copies of police reports that were nicely organized on the wall and beside the vast collection of information were printouts on black dogs, and skin walkers as well as wendigo. These so called crazed hunters had covered all the bases. Sam continued to fill the trash can pausing from time to time to squirt in a little lighter fluid.

"Have a chair, knock one back." Dean said by way of an invitation and put a beer in front of him, "Relax. I always enjoy watching Sam work."

"Savour it bro, it's the last time till next summer." Sam fake smiled at Dean.

Brothers, that fit the profile they had on hunters but they had none of the wide eyed frenzied look or feel that was attributed to these supposed fanatics. He couldn't see any of the paraphernalia usually attributed to the religious obsessed. Hell fire and damnation to all things supernatural was the supposed motto of the hunter.

"Looking for something?" Dean noticed his wondering eye.

"I'm looking for crosses, that sort of thing." Dixon admitted, "I'm, after a fashion, trying to take my measure of you."

Dean blinked twice at the formal British language then smiled, "Well we're pretty typical of hunters. You're the weird one working with a gang like that. Do you always take a baseball team on a hunt?" he asked.

"Not at all." Dixon answered, "We usually hunt in pairs. My friends gathered this time because of the enormous amount of ground we had to cover." With one of the myths about human hunters crumbling before his eyes Dixon asked, "Do you not carry any religious objects at all."

"A rosary to bless water with but what else is there?" Sam asked.

"Crosses things like that don't work on most supernatural things. Actually I'm trying to think of something they do work on. Sam?" Dean added.

"Not off the top of my head." Sam answered with a shrug.

"I wonder why that is." Dixon mused.

"Monsters are monsters, God has nothing to do with it so why should a cross strike terror to the heart or burn something or something like that." Dean returned with a casual air, "Hell even demons can go inside a church or wear a crucifix. They don't like holy water though, burns them like acid. We always have some of that near by."

"Demons, you have some experience with them?" Dixon asked glad that Dean raised the subject he was particularly interested in.

"Performed an exorcism or two in my time." Dean answered very carefully, "And you?"

"Personally no, not at all." Dixon answered

The smaller blond sat back in his chair in a relaxed easy fashion but was as casual as a guard dog. He spoke easily answering questions as if he hadn't a care in the world but said very little, gave away less and all the while he never let Dixon out of his sight. Dixon wished he could bet someone that they both had guns within arms reach. He enjoyed winning bets. The blond probably had it trained on him under the table. Their performance was impressive but the eldest's eyes was disturbing. Dixon had noticed how old Sam's eyes seemed to be, but they were not excessively so. They were the eyes of a young man who had seen to much.

Dean was another matter. His eyes were old beyond human experience. They were keen missing nothing but were weathered and beaten rather than cold or hard. He had the weary, jaded look of a man who'd lived several life times. Old eyes in young faces was not a new experience for Dixon. But what caught his attention was the haunted look of one who'd been to hell and back. That was the attention getter.

Dixon let Dean control the conversation from that point. He could learn much about a man based on what he chose to speak about and how little he shared as well as how much. He learned that Dean had a world of experience, very little trust of strangers and was passionate about his work. It was a very broad stroked picture but it was a good beginning. Sam on the other hand was a college student who only worked the summer with his brother and had no interest in the hunt. That he was there and stood tall against the wendigo said a great deal about him.

The conversation continued as long as Sam was cleaning up. The younger brother set the pail of papers on fire then took a powerful dust buster to the windows and doors. To Dixon's confused looks Dean said salt. Dixon nodded and smiled as if he understood. He did the same for many of the things the boys said, for example the phrase 'a simple salt and burn' came up in conversation but Dixon had no idea what type of job that was. In parting he offered Sam and Dean his card and asked for their number explaining that he had little experience with demons and would like to be able to call if needed. Dixon didn't know what excuse he would use to call. He couldn't fake a possession, for he had no idea what would convince them. The only thing he was certain of, as he watched them drive away, was that he would have to learn more.

* * *

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

***To my knowledge there are no wendigos in the Allegheny National Forest.**

****Old Irish proverb, 'May you life as long as you want but never want as long as you live.'**

*****I must have first published this chapter in March. Cleaned up and corrected. I hope it reads better this time around.  
**


	21. The Beginning 2

**I don't own Sam and Dean but I can always dream.**

**Heartbreak Death Angel, this is the one you've been waiting for.**

* * *

**The Beginning  
**

After a call from Brady, Sam shifted from can't wait to get back to school, to, no rush. Sam learned that Brady, Jessica, Laura and Billy had rented a four bedroom house just off campus and they were hoping he would join them. They tried to entice him with the promise of his own room. Sam had mixed feelings about the prospect. On one hand he would like to be closer to Jessica and his friends to be able to protect them. On the other he would have to watch Jessica and Brady's relationship grow perhaps even sharing a room. Now that she knew the truth a secret little part of him harboured the hope she would forgive him and renew her interest. Oh, Sam knew that could be a fatal attraction in the literal sense. He knew he could never allow it so, was it wise to be so close?

Sam fought with himself all the way from Wyoming to Palo Alto. When they pulled up to the address Brady gave them Sam was still undecided. Sam and Dean stopped in front of a fair sized yellow clapboard house, probably built in the early thirties. It was kind of boxy with small windows, a wide front porch and lots of gingerbread. The word cozy came to mind. Jessica stepped out onto the porch and waved and for a second Sam was in fantasy land. He could almost hear her calling welcome home honey.

"Dude." Dean gave Sam a slap on the arm to wake him up, "Are you staying or not."

"Will she be safer if I stay or if I go?" Sam asked.

"I wish I could tell you." Dean said with regret, "The fact is, it could already be to late."

"Don't tell me that, man don't tell me that." Sam cried distressed.

"Dude I'm not going to lie about this." said Dean, "I was trying to prevent you from falling for her in the first place but I was too late and I'm sorry about that. They'll kill her to hurt you, to make you angry and get you on the road. You don't have to be living with her you just have to love her and you may not be able to hide the fact that you do. I just don't know Sammy, I'm sorry."

Leaving wasn't going to change his feelings so Sam decided to stay and try to protect Jessica. He was relieved to learn that there were enough bedrooms because Laura and Billy were sharing one. Their romance blossomed even faster than it had when Billy was possessed. The two seemed to be made for each other. Sam had to admire Billy`s taste in women and Laura did appear to be very happy but the question remained. Was Billy good enough for her? Sam would have ample opportunity to find out.

With five people contributing to the cause the house was well furnished, that is, there was enough furniture. The pieces were miss matched and some of it was worn and battered but no one seemed to care. They were busy making schedules for household chores and creating a budget. They were excited to find that this living arrangement was cheaper than the dorms and even more economical for Billy. Provided they stuck to the budget.

Dean hung around long enough to make sure Sam was settling in. He watched and waited for his little brother's smile to become genuine. The consummate pro, Sam wore a happy grin no one questioned, but Dean waited for it to reach his eyes. Jessica seemed to be waiting too. She did give Brady her time and attention clearly trying to move on but Dean would give odds she wouldn't be able to keep it up past Christmas. Though she was fond of Brady and sure, he was a nice enough guy, Sam was undoubtedly her true love. Would this separation make any difference? Dean had a dreadful feeling she was doomed and all he'd accomplished was to deny Sam his two years of romantic bliss.

Sam managed to get caught up in the optimism that accompanied the new year. After a summer apart the room mates were renewing friendships, sharing stories and planning classes. Sam restricted his story telling to their adventures on the riverboat. Dean was startled when he heard Sam bragging about his big brother's gambling talents. He enjoyed that moment and if Sam was feeling comfortable enough to talk about such things it would seem a lot of good came of their summer together. Sam wasn't completely ashamed of him. Dean decided to get out of there before he did something to change Sam's mind. They had miraculously avoided any more fights like the one they had on the riverboat. Dean knew it wasn't all to his credit. Sam avoided certain subjects and Dean hoped it was because he'd come to accept his big brother as is. He didn't want to rub Sam's face in who his brother was in an embarrassing fashion and so he set the date of his departure.

Dean waited until they were alone to broach a few subjects. Sitting on the back porch, beer in hand they gazed at the stars contemplating the immensity of the universe. It was quiet times like this that Dean missed the most. He indulged in true quality Sammy time for a few hours until he noticed Sam check his watch. He had classes the next day and Dean realized he was keeping the college boy up late.

"Sammy I'd like you to do something for me." Dean broke the silence, "I would like you to set up a bunch of credit cards under different names for me."

"Dean?" Sam grew wide eyed his expression screaming disappointment.

"The bills should go to different post office boxes the self serve type so you can't be identified picking the bill up every month. Can you open an account with a fake ID or something so it can't be traced to you. That's the catch. How to pay for them without getting you into trouble?" Dean continued.

"Okay, I'm confused." Sam admitted, "Why do you want credit cards?"

"Sammy I think paying three hundred dollar hotel bills with cash could be just a little suspicious. " Dean explained, "I can rotate the cards so there's no pattern anyone can follow and if the cops do end up banging on my door I'll let you know which one to cancel. Then you apply again under a different name. The problem is paying them without anyone being able to trace them to you?"

"I'll see about setting up a numbered account at a couple of banks." Sam suggested.

"Great, just make sure your ass is covered." Dean insisted on caution.

"Don't worry I'll be careful." Sam said with a very pleased smile, "And what about the taxes?"

"Yah, I'll call Bobby. Make me a list of everything you need." Dean answered, not the least surprised Sam remembered, "You know, with all this you're going to need a car."

"I'll find something." Sam nodded, "Twelve thousand dollars plus my job, is more than I'll need for the year. It'll be easy to afford a car.

Dean reached around and swatted Sam on the back of the head. For a smart guy Sam could be damned slow on the draw sometimes.

"Hey." Sam complained.

"Dude, how much do I spend a week?" Dean asked.

"I have no idea." Sam snapped, "Do you?"

"No, so lets do the math." Dean replied for there was something very important that he did know that Sam hadn't figured out yet, "Lets see, 75 to 100 on a room say, five nights a week how's that?"

"Sure." Sam agreed knowing Dean slept in the car when doing a long haul.

"How about a 100 a day on food?" Dean asked.

"And drink?"

"That's separate."

"Okay."

"Gas say 300 a week."

"That much?" Sam was surprised.

"At least. And 200 on booze."

"Again?"

"Okay three hundred."

"Dean?"

"Beer with my burgers is included in the hundred."

"Fine." Sam gave it to him."

"So that's eighteen hundred a week." Dean tallied it up.

"You've been working on this." Sam grinned.

"No." Dean answered confused then narrowed his eyes when he realized what Sam meant, "You think I can't add in my head?" he snapped, "Do you know what it takes to calculate odds during a poker game, mathlete?" Sam only stared startled, "Forget it. A better question. Do you know how much I make a week gambling on line? Just the online stuff." Sam shook his head, "Six to ten thousand a week."

Dean didn't mention that it was escalating during playoffs but that it would be over with at the end with the baseball season. He would be lucky to lay a bet a month during football or hockey season. Especially hockey season. No hockey season will be a dry spell.

"You're shitting me." Sam gasped, "How do you do it. I mean gamble on line?"

"There's different ways but you can do anything online from playing poker to sports betting." Dean answered and waited but when Sam continued to stare trying to make sense of what Dean was saying he added, "There's a time factor involved, calculating odds while doing the math on all the other players and well you know how the game is played." he explained avoiding admitting he was only betting on ball games which Sam wouldn't believe anyway.

ssssssssss

Dean had begun the sports betting as a quick, efficient way of acquiring funds. Hustling pool was fun and easy but it was not an optimal use of his time when he had a decade's training to cram into a few years. It wasn't until he began to truly make headway in memory recall that he stared to see all the advantages. In exploring his future past many images became clearer, providing clues to how and why both he and Sam made the choices they did. Above all Dean explored what, beyond the obvious, was driving Sam and sought out clues in the hopes of changing those circumstances. Dean reflected on the months after he came back from hell. It was then that Sam began to perceive hunting as an unavoidable fate and embraced the inevitable. He started turning into their dad. Dean reasoned that if Sam never stops believing he will one day return to Stanford, faith would keep despair at bay no matter how dark his present was.

Dean's memory recall skill had reached the point where he could make himself comfortable anywhere, close his eyes and journey back in search of a newspaper at will. He asked Castiel how accurate these memories were and was told the clearer the image the more accurate the memory. Dean could see the paper as clearly as if he was holding it in his hand. He would choose a date, will it to appear than mentally flip the pages to the sports page. There were days when it was a blur of obituaries and other job seeking stories but no scores. He didn't always look. But as the world series grew closer those moments were fewer. Dean was playing the parlay a minimum of once a week. What better way to keep hope alive than by having funds enough to pay for Sam's law degree. Internet research and telephone interviews revealed Sam's law degree would cost in excess of a hundred thousand dollars. Dean began increasing the size of his bets.

ssssssssss

"Yah, I know." Sam answered hesitantly, "Dean do you realize that's like half a million a year?"

"I did the math." Dean answered though he hadn't, "Now take the damned bank card and buy a car." Dean handed him the card, "I expect to see something shiny, new and completely boring in the driveway before I leave. If you don't I'll go and buy it for you."

Sam did look into buying a new car and talked to a few sales reps. It always became uncomfortable when they came to the subject of financing, asking him about his income and pointing out a co-signer was usually required for college students. The statement 'I'm paying cash' always brought awkward glances, hums and haws and worried looks. Surely in this day and age of 'computer-ionares' a young person can be successful, even rich? It was embarrassing saying his brother was buying the car. It made him feel bad about taking Dean's money, even if it was honestly earned, sort of, well legal anyway. Well maybe not.

The fact was it was Dean's not his and he'd been standing on his own two feet for two years now. Taking handouts from Dean would be a step back, not forward. Dean's insistence that fathers and big brothers usually get the little brother a car wasn't quite holding water. A second hand one, absolutely. Something he picked up in a junk yard and worked on until it was cherry. That would be typical of Dean. It was what a normal big brother would do. Well maybe a little above and beyond but not to atypical. Nope not even in something as ordinary as little brother's first car could Dean be like other people. He promised Dean he'd buy the car. And he would. With part of the twelve thousand Dean gave him. He had spent the summer working with Dean and in effect earned it. A summer's wages plus danger pay. Lots of danger pay.

Dean tried to slip off quietly in the early morning. The devils traps were all carefully hidden under carpets at each door, protective wards were marked on the windows and doors to look like decorations and elder and marigold where arranged about the doors and entry ways to look natural as an added guard against evil. Nothing was going to get into this house.

'Famous last words.' Dean thought but said, "Watch yourself Sammy and call me if anything looks suspicious or makes you uneasy. Anything Sam."

"Promise." Sam agreed and threw his arms around Dean for a hug not giving him the chance to object and was pleasantly surprised when the embrace was returned without hesitation.

Dean made it to the last step before Sam's roommates came pouring out of the house clapping him on the back, hugging and shaking hands. Sam stayed on the porch snickering and grinning with delight at Dean's discomfort. It was Dean's own fault for walking into his world and becoming apart of it. Even if only around the edges. You never know, they could convert him. He smiled at the thought, smiled at how foolishly he could dream. But then again did he want Dean in the neighbourhood socializing with his friends? 'Lord what was I thinking?'

Sam set off for class on a high note and managed to return in good humour. The first day usually involved a degree of frustration as the student had to deal with the little flaws and mistakes in schedules, with the wrong class room number marked on the sheet being the worst. Maybe it was a summer of hunting that made the day so bright to Sam. He was back in the real world living the dream. He returned to his new home which was crazier that the one he had on campus last year but not nearly as insane as the one he was in all summer. As he climbed the stars a worm pleasant feeling filled him which said this is home.

On the floor at the front door was a small stack of mail which he picked up and sorted into a letter holder each slot bearing a name in masking tape. There was quite a collection for Sam. The credit card applications had arrived. Sam sat in the little den designated the quite room. There was room enough for at least three to study without crowding or having to spread out on the floor which was where Laura studied anyway. The temptation to be cruelly creative in inventing names was powerful but Sam tempered his urges thus Dilbert became Dillon and Mortimer became Morgan. Sam managed to complete two applications for American Express, two more for Master Card, and two for both Visa , and Discovery Card before someone started shouting for him in great excitement. 'Sam, Sam' Jessica and Laura called practically jumping up and down. They told him to come quick and see what was in the driveway. Sam went out on the front porch and stopped dead. A young woman in business attire stood in the lane-way beside a new silver Chevrolet Aveo with a big bow on it.

She approached the porch and asked, "Are you Sam Winchester?"

Sam nodded.

"Do you have any identification?" She asked and Sam produced his drivers licence and student I.D. card, "Thank you Mr. Winchester. I've been instructed to give you this envelope. Could you please sign here?"

Sam took the clipboard from her and asked, "What is this."

"It's a legal document stipulating that the car was delivered to you and is in perfect condition." she answered.

He did it. 'The son of a bitch really did it', Sam screamed silently and ripped open the envelope.

* * *

Dean Sammy,

Why are you so surprised? It never fails to amaze me that you're amazed when I do exactly what I said I would. Dude you're going to be running all over from San Francisco to God knows where handling my finances, so you need wheels. I can make up the money in two nights at any casino or one night in Vegas and I'll be passing through there in a couple of weeks. This is something you need to take care of my business so I don't know what the deal is with me paying.

I picked one out that's so your style. It totally blends into the scenery. In fact it disappears. Since I won't be there to maintain it I got you the extended warranty so you shouldn't have any trouble with the upkeep. I think it's fair considering everything you're doing for me. Besides we agreed I'm pretty much your dad so I can do the dad thing and buy you your first car. If you can't buy that, consider it a make up gift for all the birthdays and Christmases we didn't celebrate so don't get bitchy about it.

I damned near went to a caddy dealer and bought you this years racy convertible sports coup in candy apple red with custom rims and racing stripes but I was nice so you be nice when you fill in those credit card applications. One thing Sammy. When I pick you up next summer we are NOT taking your car, not a chance in hell.

Dean.

* * *

Sam gave the vehicle the once over twice, turned over the engine and took if for a test drive before signing the necessary papers. It was his style alright, unassuming, not an attention getter like Dean's beloved Impala. His big brother did know him well, in some things. But why couldn't Dean just let him do it his way? That was the thing that made him angry. Dean just couldn't let him live his life his way. Sam pulled out his cell phone and pushed Dean on the speed dial.

"Sammy you're not going to bitch at me are you?" were the first words out of Dean's mouth.

"Dean a brand new car on top of supporting me this year." Sam whined, "Its to much."

"Sammy, for ten years I lied, cheated, stole and hustled to keep use fed when dad wasn't around which was most of the time." Dean groaned, "Now that it's honest money you don't want it. Explain that to me."

"I'm not a kid anymore Dean." Sam cried in frustration, "I should be supporting myself."

"You still are. I took you from your summer job promising to pay you and hunters should earn hazard pay. Now you've taken on a shit load of responsibility for me, like you're my lawyer." Dean insisted, "You'll earned that twelve grand and the car. You know, with all the shit you've taken on twelve grand sounds a little cheep. I think I'll give you a Christmas bonus or something. We'll see."

"No it's fine. You've paid me in spades, okay." Sam hurried to stop him.

Sam hated arguments like this. Dean would be all over the place, his logic impossible to follow. But when he made a good point it was even worse. It was a little brother thing.

"So we're good now?" Dean asked.

"Yah I guess we're good." Sam let him have it, "In fact I should thank you for trusting me with all this."

"Who else am I going to trust?" Dean tried to brush it off.

"Still it's a lot of money and a lot of responsibility." Sam pressed the matter, "I appreciate your faith in me."

"No problem Sammy." Dean sighed pleased with Sam's knew attitude toward him, "Is it your kind of car, cause if it isn't you can trade it in on something you like."

"Dean it's perfect." Sam had to admit. "Sometimes it's spooky how well you know me."

"Hey, I'm a good dad." Dean joked not knowing what else to say, "If there's anything else you need just use that Cayman bank card."

"You already gave me more than enough to live on." Sam insisted.

"Well fine but if you need something big." Dean pressed right back.

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Dude I live out of a car, how the hell should I know? I'm just saying if something comes up you have carte blanche." Dean whined just a little then became serious, "You keep an eye out Sammy and call me at the first sign of anything, okay?"

"I will, thanks big brother." Sam answered and waited until the phone went silent before closing it.

"Your brother bought you a car." Jessica breathed in amazement.

"Yah." Sam smiled deciding maybe it was okay after all, "He's doing the dad thing. No he's just being Dean."

Sam was glad he wasn't too little brotherish with the credit card applications but Mortimer Goth would have been great.

* * *

Dean was on the road and hunting. Alone. He would be through the mountains and into the valley then to the Sierra Nevada and south to a town called Ridgecrest. When that job was finished he would move on to Arizona were people were falling off the face of the earth. Alone. 'I have to stop thinking that' he told himself. Dean broke through the foot hills into wide green expanses and hoped his mood would embrace the sense of freedom of the road. It wasn't as if he'd never hunted alone. There was a time when he enjoyed having no one to worry about.

He certainly had enough to occupy his time. He had a journal of jobs to get through before he had to turn his attention back to Sam and there was the hunt for that bitch Meg. He wouldn't have time to be lonely. It was a simple matter of getting used to it.

Ridgecrest a town of over twenty-seven thousand people in the southern portion of Kern County. It was a product of the navy, as was evident not only by the military housing and uniforms all over town but the presents of the China Lake Naval Weapons Center. Low profile was always wise but, in a town where the majority of the population was as well trained and well armed as he was, Dean decided to take extra care. He would make sure any girl he set his sights on wasn't in anyone else's sites or maybe he'd just play it safe and stay in.

Dean checked into the Ridgecrest Motel in downtown Ridgecrest. It was an unassuming establishment but it had all the amnesties he was looking for. A clean bathroom, a coffee maker, internet access, cable TV, and a reasonably comfortable if not luxurious bed. He'd got by with less. Now to attend to a military store house where being the night attendant should earn you hazard pay.

As soon as Sam was back at school Castiel reappeared for daily training. Dean was up before most in town so he didn't object to training, however he wanted to drop the physical workout in favour of mind development. After the incident in the Allegheny National Forest, Dean wasn't satisfied with a gentle pace. He raised the subject after a morning 'run'. He sat down to a take out breakfast which included extra bacon and sausage. He was craving protein even more than he used to.

Castiel said mind development would improve as his body began functioning at a more efficient level. Again he advocated patience, reminding Dean that he was progressing at an accelerated rate already. All would come in due time. However he insisted that one form of training could not be done without the other. If the physical training was allowed to lapse he would not have the energies to train his mind. He suggested there were other factors that could be slowing his progress.

"Your alcohol consumption is very likely interfering with your senses." Castiel said the last thing Dean wanted to hear.

"You can't tell me to stop drinking." Dean began to panic.

"At the very least you must reduce your alcohol intake and consume little or none when you are attempting to utilise your skills." Castiel counter offered then asked, "What is the benefit of drinking excessive quantities of alcohol?"

Dean thought for a minute then answered, "Fine I get your point."

Castiel's head tilted in confusion and said, "It was a question?"

"Oh." Dean responded embarrassed, "Well, it dulls the senses, numbs feeling. If I drink enough at night, I can sleep, sometimes without nightmares."

Castiel was not entirely clear about feelings, their purpose or consequences. He knew he had a bond with Dean but was unsure of it's nature. He knew from Dean's memories that he'd had this feeling in the other live, that he was also friends with Sam and to a smaller degree Bobby, but could not determine whether it weakened or strengthen him. He suspected that he gained strength if he had the courage to disobey and search for his Father, but it was all very confusing. Were humans sometimes confused by there feelings?

"What causes these nightmares?" Castiel asked.

Dean would rather have not answered that. It was his greatest moment of shame and discussing it made him feel small. But Castiel had to be brought up to speed. He had to be fair to the Angel, he was after all a friend.

"They're more like memories, of hell." Dean confessed, "The things that happened to me, the things I did."

"You were tortured." Castiel stated.

"Yah for thirty years then I cracked, went insane and started torturing innocent people." Dean gave him the short version, "There's a lot guilt and shame involved, Cass and a lot of pain. Remembering hurts but alcohol dulls the pain."

"Dean you are confused." Cass said with an almost smile, "People in hell are not innocent. They are damned because of the terrible sins they committed. It requires an enormous amount of sinning to find oneself damned, or a demon deal which is also a terrible sin."

"Are you saying I deserved what happened to me?" Dean asked distressed by the thought.

"No." Cass answered quickly, "I am saying damned souls are not innocent people. They have condemned themselves by their own actions and those actions must be severe. Only a demon deal can send a person to damnation without committing an unforgivable crime against another. I will not say what happens to souls in Hell is justice but they are not innocent."

"Cass, I can think of maybe a dozen people in all history who deserves to be sliced and diced for the rest of eternity." Dean pressed the point, "I didn't deserve it when it happened to me and the people I did it to didn't deserve it either."

Cass was about to leave to pray for guidance and understanding when something inspired him to ask, "Do you forgive your brother for his terrible crimes against you and others?"

"Of course." Dean answered thinking Cass would help make his point.

"Do you forgive me for beating you and holding you accountable for my own actions." Castiel asked of a disturbing memory he saw in Dean's mind.

"Sure. It was just a mistake."

"Are you not deserving of the same forgiveness you have granted us?" Castiel asked.

"Wow, I'm impressed. That was some manoeuvre." Dean said with a big breath.

"It was …, not my question." Cass said appearing a little confused.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked alarmed.

"I suspect it is a question my father wished to ask." Castiel explained then asked, "What would be the purpose of that question."

"How should I know?" Dean grumbled, but Cass stared waiting patiently for a answer with troubled intense eyes. They weren't Sam's puppy eyes but they had a similar affect, "My guess. I should forgive myself like I forgive other people."

"Yes, it is a reasonable expectation." Castiel agreed.

"But not easy."

That night as Dean slept fitfully due to a reduced amount of numbing alcohol Castile appeared beside his bed. He touched Dean's forehead banishing the nightmares. Castiel knew better than to tamper with the memories but wishing to help Dean he pushed them aside, to weaken their hold on him. Knowing how Dean didn't like being helped, Castiel would do it gradually, as to not startle or upset. Cass stood watch as he did many nights and was much pleased by the improved sleep in his friend. Why he slept six whole hours.

As dawn approached Castiel stood by the east facing window. The rising sun was a magnificent sight he had not seen in two thousand years and though he watched it many mornings since meeting Dean each was still fresh and new. He did love these wondrous creations of his father and he now had unequivocal proof that he was doing his father's will in protecting them.

Witnessing Dean's vivid memory of their conversation on the hood of the Impala had been a revelation. In thousands years God had spoken only to Joshua. That his father chose to send a message to Dean was powerful evidence that the young human was serving God's will and he should trust him. All the other memories supported that assumption and now he had proof that he had chosen correctly. The inspiration for the question could have only come from his father. Only he could have intruded on Castiel's thoughts and planted something without being identified. It was a proud moment but a terrifying prospect. The path his father had chosen for him was a mission of monumental importance. He must stand alone against the host of heaven beside a human to save his world. Was he, the commander of a small garrison capable of being his father's instrument? Castiel could not say but he would place his faith in his father's wisdom and trust his friend Dean. The young human would need help if he was to save his family without condemning the world. Cass watched the sun rise and prayed for the strength and wisdom to guide Dean in his quest and to give him peace.

Dean opened his eyes feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He yawned scratched his head and swung his feet to the floor but as he propelled himself from the bed his eyes fell on Castiel. He usually let Dean shower and have breakfast before showing up to train. Fine if he wanted to hang around like that the impatient Angel would have to wait. Dean decided to do every job he could find with in a two hundred mile radius of Los Vegas for a little more mind training before challenging the best, so it was well that Cass was so eager.

* * *

Dixon Channing was never one to let an opportunity slip away. He assigned his A team, Emeline Becker, Lance Rickman and Haskell Martin to the case. Tailing someone was the simplest of tasks for a Barbaru yet they lost the magnificent black Impala before it left Kane. When they told him it took a few minutes for Dixon to realised they weren't joking. He then called on the research department to find out which college Sam was attending and sent them to Palo Alto to pick up the trail. For a week the team watched typical collage kids move into a house. They hauled in odd pieces of furniture and did minor repairs on the building. Well they helped the Winchester brothers do minor repairs and celebrated the last day of summer break with a barbecue of burgers and beer in the back yard. The next morning Dean and the Impala moved on and again lost him before reaching the city limits.

An opportunity lost thought Dixon with a deal of regret but resolved to put it out of his mind, until he went on his bi annual Nisutu forum in Los Vegas and spotted Dean in the casino lobby. In torn jeans and a battered leather jacket the young hunter walked into the high end casino like he owned the place. He paused and looked around to get his bearings suggesting he'd never been in the establishment before. Opportunity just struck twice and Dixon was on it. He made a quick call to the Illutu summoning support. He would have teams blanket the city to make sure they didn't loose him again. Dixon strolled up to Dean with a causal friendly smile and watched the teller's huffy attitude shift to congenial as Dean took out his bank card to buy chips.

"I thought I recognised you." he greeted Dean with an amiable smile and offered hand.

"Hey, what brings you to sin city." Dean smiled hiding any surprise he may have felt.

"David I'll take care of my friend here." Dixon told the teller taking Dean off his hands and leading him to a bar. "CEO's of Nisutu Enterprises meet here bi annually. We make reports, work out issues, make plans for the future and loose money."

'The CEO of a company?' Dean was taken by surprise, "A corporate leader, hunter. Having money must make hunting easier."

"It has it's advantages." Dixon grinned, admiring Dean's perfectly affected nonchalance.

Something in the young man's eyes warned him not to be fooled.

"Would you be here on business?" Dixon asked

"Just picking up some quick easy cash." Dean answered.

"Most here would say it's anything but easy my self included." he grinned.

"Comes natural to me." Dean returned, a cocky grin slipping across his face, the same one he wore when they spoke at the motel.

"Do you have a figure in mind?" Dixon asked, "One thousand, ten, a hundred?"

"Oh ten anyway. Do you know when the real players show up?" He asked, "Early birds or later at night."

"If I understand you correctly they should be rolling in, soon." he answered looking at his watch, "The high rollers usually start in the early afternoon, break for dinner which is served in the room, then continue afterward. The games are by invitation of course. I'm afraid I would need considerable time to arrange one of those. Back there," He pointed to a room to one side of the main gallery, "You'll find tables with a minimum buy in of ten, twenty-five and fifty thousand."

Dean seemed to think for a minute before answering, "Works for me."

"Shall we then. Oh leave the beer. The waitresses in the poker room are very attentive particularly if you are a generous tipper." he said and dropped a twenty five dollar chip on the bar for a fifteen dollar bar tab.

Dean's whole demeanour changed as they stepped into the green room. Nine tables were well spaced apart in a room decorated in subdued tones of green and brown. The walls had to be sound proofed to dampen the noise of slot machines, roulette wheel and boisterous gamblers. They were fortunate enough to find a table with two empty seats, or Dixon thought it fortunate. Dean didn't seem to react. He wore his slightly cocky grin and that was the extent of his emotional expression. He paused to whisper in the ear of the cocktail waitress attending the table, took his jacket off pulled his sleeves up near his elbows and sat introducing himself. From that moment his posture little changed.

For six hours the young man's smile never faltered, his eyes only left the table to give the waitress a twenty-five dollar chip for the drink whether it was a beer or a Bloody Mary and a twenty dollar chip for herself. The beer was the first drink to appear with a Bloody Mary to follow a half hour later. The pattern continued throughout the game. As he played he engaged in light banter with others when addressed but gave away not an iota of personal information nor showed emotion other than mild amusement. During the game he was infuriatingly calm and expressionless. Only his perpetual smirk kept him from being a stone statue. By the time he left he had amassed the greater portion of everyone's chips who'd dared to sit at the table and try their luck.

At around nine o'clock Dean checked his watch and announced, "Oh hell it's time for dinner and a show."

"It is for me as well." Dixon declared, "You have all my ready." Dean blinked and his eyebrows popped, "My ready cash."

"Well if you're going to complain you can have some back." Dean laughed.

"Now don't be rude." Dixon sniffed with a grin, warning Dean of gambling etiquette he may not be aware of, "Be a good winner."

"I'm always a good winner." Dean chuckled, "Come on Englishman, I'll buy you dinner, you choose the place."

"Best food and show in town. Shall we." Dixon agreed, 'Oh that was too easy.'

"You working tomorrow." Dean asked of the waitress as they left, and when she answered yes with a big smile he responded, "See you later sweetheart."

Dean showed Dixon the napkin the waitress had stuffed in his hand. On it was the young ladies number and with a merry chuckle he said he should probably keep it. While visiting Sam and Dean's motel room in Kane he allowed himself to have a good look at the two young men. Sam was the one he spent most of his time with so he turned his attention to the younger Winchester first. His sweet young face and soft hazel eyes bespoke of intelligence and kindness and his well toned physique suggested he was athletically inclined. Sam moved with the confidence and ease of one well trained in self defence. When he sifted his focus to Dean and took a studied look at what sat before him Dixon's heart skipped a beat. He saw beneath the bruises and bandages the face of Adonis and under the nicely fitted T shirt a well muscled form. Dixon had to remind himself that he was there on business and put a stop to his fantasies. Once again Dixon reminded himself that this wasn't the first beautiful human he'd ever seen and checked his meandering thoughts.

"A beer on the top of the hour and a Bloody Mary on the half?" Dixon asked.

"I don't drink Bloody Mary's." Dean admitted, "Tomato juice with tobacco and celery is even worse. I'll definitely pick something else. Maybe I should mix it up a little.

'You minx' Dixon thought then suggested, "Alternating drinks could be construed as a superstition if properly presented."

"Which would suggest I have weakness. That might be good but I don't know if it's better than intimidation." Dean mused.

"Being preserved as flawed in such a way can make the foolish more arrogant and daring." Dixon offered the benefit of his experience.

"Good point." Dean agreed.

"Dean have you ever played poker in a casino before?" Dixon dared to ask.

Dean's dazzling emerald green eyes lost any humour and his face became hard. Dixon didn't know what sore spot he'd hit but it was the first profound reaction he'd seen in the boy.

"Why do you ask?" he asked.

"You have a stillness about you yet you're always very alert." Dixon answered, "I doubt you weren't aware of every little thing that happened in that room. Here gambling is legal and there are guards and cameras protecting the players from cheaters or disgruntled losers. It's quite safe to relax and play without worrying about your back. Someone who plays poker in the back rooms of bars has your level of caution. Or rather the smart one do."

"I guess I kind of stand out here." Dean admitted relaxing just a little.

"Stand out is the word. You should turn professional." Dixon said with a light clap on Dean's shoulder.

"Got a day job." Dean laughed, "The pay sucks. Hey I'm hungry."

"I'm rather peckish myself." Dixon agreed.

Dixon opted for a local restaurant famous for it's diner theater and asked, "Do you have a dinner jacket." Dean startled him by answering with a dirty look and asking if he looked like the suit and tie type, "If you don't I would be happy to lend you one. Excellent sea food, the finest beef, exotic delights, all you can eat." Dean's eyes brightened at all you can eat, "And the entertainment is brilliant. A little risqué but roaring good fun."

"Roaring good fun?" Dean asked one eyebrow shooting up.

"Oh get off." Dixon laughed taking no offence, "It's a vaudeville, skimpily clad buxom ladies and lascivious humour. All you need is a jacket"

"Okay, I'm sold. We'll stop for my jacket" Dean gave in.

They stopped at Dean's modest motel room and he pulled out at suit bag with an impressive label. From it he took a casual jacket and pair of slacks that did not belong to the store label leaving a finely tailored suit that did. Dixon took a closer look.

"I made two mistakes." Dean said pausing at the bathroom door, "I went shopping with women and said money was no object, "Very dangerous thing to do. It comes complete with mother of pearl cufflinks and tie pin. Pour yourself a drink."

Dixon took another look at the fine suit imaganing how handsome Dean would look in it then checked his thoughts again. In surprisingly short order Dean stepped out wearing a burgundy shirt under a blue sports jacket and black slacks. They were not designer by any stretch but were of a respectable quality and fit well. Dixon couldn't help declaring 'Smashing.' startling Dean who looked at himself then at Dixon confused .

"Completely respectable without being overdone." Dixon said without missing a step.

"I'm not wearing a tie." Dean insisted.

Dixon indicated his crew neck sweater and jacket combo, "Not necessary. Shall we."

The dinner club was full as it usually was but a quick word to the maitre d' from Dixon garnered them a private table with a good view of the stage. Dean asked how much he owed the maitre d' reminding him the dinner was supposed to be his treat but Dixon insisted it wasn't necessary. 'Wealthy CEO' he reminded the hunter. From the moment they entered the club Dean's eyes light up and his perpetual smirk became a happy smile. One of the curiosities of the club was the scantily clad performers were also the waitresses. There were five to ten minute intervals between one group of performers finished skit and the next. Each change brought a new waitress to the table and Dean flirted them all. Dean was having a blast. Dixon couldn't help thinking how beautiful he was when his eyes were sparkled with merriment. Business or not he could at least appreciate the masterpiece he was looking at.

Despite the precious little Dean gave up about himself Dixon learned quite a bit about the hunter that evening. He was a blue caller man with everyman tastes who came from a very uncultured back ground. Dean's military upbringing was apparent in his carriage and strict code of ethics but during quiet breaks Dixon garnered a better understanding of how deep the code of honour ran and where his priorities lay. Fortunately Dean possessed the unrestrained behavior of the rank and file rather than the boring stiff shirts of most every officer he met. Dean was unabashed in his love of classic cars, classic rock and nubile woman. Dixon understood and shared Dean's love of the classics both cars and music and even the company of an uninhibited lady. Dixon left the club feeling the evening was a grand sucsess, particularly when during the ride back to the casino, Dean admitted he hadn't had that much fun in a long time. Dixon said good night, with a warm handshake to retire and enjoy his dreams. He paused at the elevator to look back and spotted Dean with the cocktail waitress. The hunter's evening wasn't over by a long shot.

Knowing Dean was coming back for another day in the green room Dixon gave up the pleasure of sitting across the table from him and sent a member of one of the teams to obtain a more objective opinion. Carter was believed by some to be the best poker player in the Illutu. Upon hearing how the human cleaned everyone out Carter was eager for the challenge and insisted on using his own funds. He returned to Dixon's suite broke and aggravated, with only a mild regard for the human who took it from him. Fifty thousand dollars was half his annual salary. Dixon new better than to suggest he submit the loss as a work expense but offered to spot him for another day at the tables. When asked where Dean was Carter said he left and Lance was following him.

They lost him before he left sin city. Dixon was seething with frustration puzzling many around him with his concern for this human. The leaders of the four other Illutu in the United States questioned his interest to which Dixon replied…

"Our encounter with the hunters in Allegheny made me painfully aware that our information about them is embarrassingly limited and highly questionable. What little we know about human hunters was from distant observations made briefly during accidental encounters of humans we suspected were hunters, bulked up with rumours and prejudice. Now that we know them to be hunters we must inform ourselves. Ignorance has always proven a dangerous thing and I will not tolerate it."

The retort brought the leaders up short and put an end to any objections when he sent out a notice to all Barbaru to keep watch. Dixon caught a major break when a classic car dealer emailed him about a mint condition 67 black Impala licence KAZ 2Y5 asking if he wanted to make the owner an offer. Dean was in Oneonta, New York. It seemed the only way they could find him was by chance. Dixon hopped into his most inconspicuous car and drove there himself to take charge of the situation.

* * *

Dean deposited over a quarter of a million dollars into the off shore account laughing as he did so. When Dixon asked him if he wanted one thousand, ten or a hundred he had no real idea what the English man was asking him so he picked the middle ground. He wanted to shy away at the thought of a ten thousand dollar buy in. It was twice as much as he'd ever risked before. There was also the fact that the players in Vegas would surely be a greater challenge than he'd ever faced and that was the determining factor. It sparked that old thrill of the challenge. A few of the guys at the table could handle the cards better than any he'd played before adding a sweetness to his win.

At this point in time Dean not only had enough to pay for Sam's education but had start up money for Sam's law practice. If he could keep the momentum going by the time he ran out of future ball game scores Dean would have enough saved to spend the rest of his life hustling pool or playing poker for fun and out of pocket money. When coupled with his growing bond with Sam, Dean was very satisfied with his achievements thus far. Once again hope was alive in him.

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But fun time was over, he had to go back to work. Dean zigzagged north and east covering a number of hunts he did before and a few he hadn't. After seven weeks on the road he was ready for a break. He was looking for something to laugh at when he came upon a little story on a touristy website called 'Cursed America'. Dean had a good chuckle over some of the outrageous stories but stopped laughing when reading about a house that killed all boys around the age of fifteen. When such articles listed names and dates it's wise to check a little closer before laughing, and he did. Damn he wanted to take a day or two off, but it wasn't his nature to relax if he knew there was a job somewhere.

Dean pulled into the city of Oneonta, home of the State University of New York on I 88 half way between Albany and Binghamton. It wasn't much of a town. The tallest building was a fourteen story senior citizen complex. Dean found a comfortable motel, ordered a meat lover's pizza and settled in for a night's work. Boys going over a rail sounded like a salt and burn or a cursed house but then again there was an outside chance it was some kind of sacrifice. In his research Dean covered all the bases. Something this hazzy usually took toil and effort to research and he was not disappointed. He was half way threw the large pizza and on his third beer before the pattern began to emerge and then the foot work began.

Within two days of checking in to the modest Days Inn, Dean had a wall of his room covered with the stories of six boys who died in a unassuming house in an older section of town as well as every detail of that houses history. The boys had a habit of falling over a railing at the top of the stair landing in the foyer. It was always the same place and always the same month. All of the boys had been in the house for over five years and four for over ten but none were disturbed until they hit their early to mid teens. He found these events began fourty years ago The first victim's family moved in when their eldest son was four, and lost two sons, the first when he was fifteen, the second two years later just after his fourteenth birthday and they left before losing their third. The second family had only one son who went over the railing at age fourteen They put the house on the market a few months later. The third family had twin boys who died within days of each other at the age of fifteen. The family moved into the house when the boys were only two.

The latest victim was the son of police officer Doug Davison. The boy's funeral was the day before Dean arrived. In a newspaper clipping Dean pinned on the wall, father and son wore matching smiles as the boy was presented with the most valuable player award by his senior league baseball team. Dean was also able to verify a story on the Cursed America website about the first family driven from the house back in the sixties. Though it didn't say what prompted the interest the couple had a few séances then sold the house less than a year latter. It had to be something bad to drive out members of the peace love and groove generation. The ground had no history, the hippies didn't indulge in occult activities and the victims were from different unconnected families so no individual or family curses could explain it. Dean went looking for a spirit.

A spirit in the house with a grudge against teenage boys. Having been a teenage boy, Dean thought he might take personal offence to this. He went in search of likely suspects and found only two violent deaths in the house prier to the sixties. First a young suicide, Evelyn Chandler found in her bed with her wrists slashed. The suicide note she left said she was going to join the love of her life who had died in World War 1. Could she be avenging a broken heart because he wasn't waiting for her when she opened her eye's in the after life? Not very likely and the month was wrong. An elderly man, a widower in his sixties and Evelyn's older brother, Herbert Chandler, was found with his head split open below the second story railing. Draw me a map why don't you, Dean grinned but no, the old gentleman was cremated. By process of elimination that left the teenage girl but Dean wasn't about to start digging up a grave without some form of confirmation. The girl didn't feel right, the particulars didn't fit together properly.

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Dean established a stake out around the corner from the house that hated teenage boys. He watched from sun up to sun set and into the night for any sign of life and found none. The police sergeant had taken grievance leave to morn the loss of his son but surely the household would continue to function. Some one should have come out to pick up the newspaper and mail. There were two vehicles in the driveway one a mini van with a child seat in it, but no one drove to the market for a quart of milk. The draperies were not opened all day, well maybe with the house in morning, but there was no movement behind them either. The lights came on at night but still there were no shadows behind the curtains the entire evening and the lights went off at precisely ten o'clock. Timer. It was time.

At one o'clock in the morning Dean was unpleasantly surprised by how easy it was to break into the home of a police officer, even if the house was built pre world war one. It was comfortably if not lavishly furnished with signs of the well established, a plasma TV, a DVD player and burner, a stereo sound system with surround sound and all the other usual amenities seen in middle class homes. Dean slipped silently to the foyer where Evelyn was supposedly repeatedly dropping an absentee boyfriend. Dean could detect the smell of decomp the moment he stepped in the house and it grew stronger as he moved toward the stairs but miraculously there was no body in the foyer. The putrid stench of decomp was coming from the second floor but if another boy had been killed where was the rest of the family and why was the body upstairs instead of under the rail? Dean switched off his crackling EMF meter and stuffed it in his pocket then approached the stairs. With his sawed off loaded with rock salt in hand and with his back against the wall Dean crept up the stairs ready for anything … but the voice that drifted down the hall. A tiny female voice softly whispering.

Slowly carefully Dean stepped around the corner of the landing to the hall his sawed off raised ready to fire and only just missed stepping in a pool of blood. Congealing blood pools left little to be seen of the hall carpet and the walls were a nightmarish mural of spray, splatter, smears, and prints. Two women, a man, a teenager, an adolescent boy, and a little girl. All had their heads bashed in. Doug Davison had come out of his room armed with his service revolver and died half way down the hall with his young son right behind him. A little girl had been crawling out from under her dead mother when her skull was split open, which told Dean what Mrs. Davison had been doing when she died. The other two, the teenager and other woman, perhaps visiting relatives comforting the bereaved died huddled together in a lump. The assault on the woman was particularly vicious.

Careful not to disturb the scene Dean took two steps closer to Evelyn and levelled his shot gun at her. She had the pale pasty skin and dark hallowed eyes of all spirits and despite the long sleeves of the old fashioned white nightgown her slit wrists were evident. This close he could hear what she was saying. She was praying. Evelyn was kneeling by Mrs. Davison and the little girl and praying for their souls. This was not typical vengeful spirit behaviour.

"You want to explain this massacre?" He demanded of the praying spirit.

"Herbert is quite mad." She said slowly raising her head.

If a spirit could cry this one was, Dean would give odds on it, "Herbert?"

"My brother Herbert has been in a fury since the day he was murdered." she explained, "Over the years he grew more and more unreasonable until finely he went mad and began to kill any boy of age." Her voice was trembling as she spoke and she had to paused choking on heart break before going on, "Tonight the boy's mother, the visitors from Seattle, she struck him with something that hurt him and he was, … he was beyond mad. It was horrible to see. He would spare no one. Not even this tiny girl," Evelyn's voice cracked and she began to sob.

Dean took a second look at the pummelled woman and saw a black cast iron candlestick lying by her on the floor. He would never know if it was accidental or if in fact she knew what she was doing. Either way it turned out to be a tragic mistake.

"Your brother's body was cremated so how can he be here." Dean pointed out a flaw in her story, "He needs something to keep him here." Her face was suddenly filled with alarm and Dean had that creepy crawly down his back feeling. "Hay Herbert. Bite me!" He called as he turned to face the threat.

It was a shrivelled up old man, thin and frail in a three piece suit and carrying a cane over his head as a weapon. He might have appeared helpless but for the demented eyes and mad snarling sneer. Dean fired the shot gun in his face.

Evelyn stared startled, "What marvellous thing is this. The police officer's weapon had no affect on Herbert."

"Trade secret, sweetheart." Dean told her.

Dean began carefully picking his way down the hall. There were few spots to step in as blood had spread carrying bits of tissue and brain matter with it. Dean usually hardened to such sights had to remind himself it's not your fault, you can't save them all. Evelyn walked ahead of him, looked around the corner, watched his back and generally kept an eye out. It was a strange feeling having a ghost for a look out, not that Dean was trusting her. He made it past the bodies and the worst of the blood pools when Evelyn facing the stairs began to shout.

"Herbert, you must stop." She cried, "You'll be damned, Herbert stop."

Dean slid toward the center of the hall to get an angle on Herbert but the crazed spirit was to quick or did he see Evelyn glance in Dean's direction? Evelyn began to franticly look around and Dean threw his back against the wall again. 'Herbert' Evelyn her eyes wide with fear, spotted him. He was around the other corner of the hall. No more fooling around. Dean decided it was time for daring. With the speed and accuracy he was known for Dean leapt around the corner and fired in Herbert's face taking him completely by surprise. 'Marvellous' Evelyn cheered but Dean didn't wait around to take bows. He slid more than ran down the stairs, while reloading the shotgun, then dashed for the front door. Dead bolt and no doubt dad had the key. Why one of these bolts you can't even open from the inside when any second rate hood could break into your study?

"Look there, Herbert." Evelyn pointed calling out a warning.

Dean looked, "Son of a bitch!" Herbert was literally flying at him.

Another blast of rock salt took care of the persistent spirit but the house came to life with flying everything. Dean dived over furniture that rushed across the room at him and ducked flying lamps, vases and well, everything else. There was a lot of open space to cover and even with Evelyn shouting warnings Herbert managed to corner Dean in the middle of a reload. The cane came down grazing the side of Dean's head and stunning him momentarily but before Herbert could deliver another blow Evelyn jumped on his back. Everything in mid air dropped as they both screamed as if the contact was wildly painful. Shells in, weapon ready and as Herbert tossed Evelyn to the floor Dean fired.

"Bastard!" Dean snarled at him and grabbed Evelyn who lay on the floor gasping;

Half dragging her to the den Dean pushed her out the window and jumped out after her. Without stopping to consider he had a spirit by the slashed wrist Dean grabbed the girl and stumbled along the side of the house to the back ally.

"Where am I going, why?" The startled girl asked as she struggled to regain her strength.

"The house isn't safe for you." Dean gave her a generic answer.

Dean had to jump a fence and race down another ally to the next block to where he left the Impala. Dizzy from his wound he fell over the fence and staggered with his head spinning as it worked it's way up to a migraine worthy head ache. Dean fell to his knees grabbing hold of his head and ordered it to be still. He could feel Evelyn's arm laying over his shoulder and her hand griping his arm.

"I will help you." She told him gently.

"I'll be fine. What about you? You're not bound to the house? " He pulled himself to his feet and staggered a few steps before steadying himself.

"I have never tried to leave, but many of my kind have." Evelyn answered and reached out to him again, "You are clearly not well, lean on me."

"Okay just make sure I'm going in a straight line." Dean reluctantly conceded and the strange couple made their way to the Impala.

Dean arrived uneventfully at the motel which was rather remarkable considering the pain in his head and the blood pouring out of it. They tiptoed up the one flight of stairs to his room and slipped in unseen. Dean grabbed his first aid kit, put a towel to his head and fell in to a chair. The kit was still well stocked as he had little need of it lately. He rummaged around for the suture kit, antiseptic and pain killers. Dean took a close look at the wound. He'd sown himself up quite a few times over the years. It wasn't the act of putting a needle threw his skin that bothered him it was the location. Even with a mirror it was hard to see and he would spend much of his time ramming the needle into his scull. Moments like this call for crazy glue. The reason the glue bonds skin together better than anything else is because it was was designed for medics in Vietnam to replace sutures. Whether it was glue or sutures he was faced with the same problem. He still wouldn't be able to see what he was doing.

"May I assist you?" Evelyn ask.

"No, not unless ..." Dean stopped and smiled, what did every girl of her generation know how to do, "Evelyn, can you sew?"

"Yes of course, I can stitch, darn and embroider." Evelyn answered indignantly, offended that he should even have to ask, "I was properly raised."

"I'm so glad to hear that, Evelyn. I want you to take this needle and sew this gash here together. Nice small stitches close together." Dean offered her the needle but she backed away.

"That is your body not a pillow." Evelyn gasped mortified at the very idea of drawing a needle threw human flesh, "I suggest you see a physician?"

"Yah I would but with all those dead bodies at your house I'd be halled off to jail when I couldn't explain how I got this." Dean explained, then held out the needle, "Please, I need you're help."

Evelyn nodded and squared her shoulders. Dean could see her steeling herself, to the task.

"Then I will do my best." she said, took the needle then stalled, "How, where do I begin?"

"OK, pull the ends of the wound together nice and even not overlapping or anything, then you take the needle and do a neat cross stitch." Dean explained speaking as gently as he could and guiding her hands, "There now use a simple interrupted stitch or a running stitch. Whichever you're comfortable with." Watching her in the mirror Dean saw her stall, "What?" he asked.

"What kind of stitch?" She asked.

His father taught him to suture not sew. Dean could sew a button on a shirt or fix a split seam and he wasn't to sure about the seam. It was fixed Winchester style. Who cared if it wasn't according to code, as long as it held together. To the internet, a hunters most important tool . 'Sewing' too general try, 'sewing stitches'. There we are.

"Here it's like that, a satin stitch." Dean explained pointing to a picture on the screen

He moved a chair in front of the dresser so he could watch her in the big mirror on the wall over it. There was more room for Evelyn to move around in and the softer lighting in the room didn't accentuate Evelyn's deep dark rimmed eyes and pallor. He needed no further reminders that he was placing trust in that which he hunted. Dean did his best not to flinch as the needle pierced already painful flesh. Evelyn was nervous enough and he didn't want her hand shaking as she was sticking a needle in him.

"So why don't you tell me about yourself." Dean asked hoping conversation would ease her stress.

Besides he damned well needed to know what he was dealing with. A sweet smile appeared on her face and she began her remarkable story. One even Dean hadn't heard before.

* * *

**I know very little about casinos outside of what I've seen on TV. I hope it's not too laughable to any who have visited them.**

***The town of Oneonta is quite real and the tallest building is the senior home at fourteen stories however to my knowledge there are no houses killing teenage boys.**

****Though I have little experience with sports betting (to be honest none) the figures sighted by Dean regarding his online betting are supported by research.  
**

**Another reproofed and touched up. If I've missed any mistakes please let me know.  
**


	22. Truth, Lies and What?

**I don't own Sam, Dean, or Supernatural or I would be able to buy a new computer every few years.**

**You will find a little of the original chapter 21 here but I don't think it's quite the same. At least I hope not. I can't make any promises about when I'll be able to post chapter 23 but I can say it won't be a month. In point of fact I hope to have a new or repaired computer very soon and be back on track shortly there after.**

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Truth, Lies and,… What?**

**Day one**

Finding Dean proved an issue as he wasn't registered under his own name but Dixon had experience in such matters. He was a little surprised to find the hunter in a comfortable yet unremarkable inn on the outskirts of town. It had been his experience that having won several hundred thousand dollars the average man would be inclined to splurge a little but then Dean had already proved he was anything but average? Having proved he was impossible to tail Dixon called in back up teams to stake out the Inn and set up surveillance at all pertinent locations down town. He was only mildly familiar with Dean's hunting practices so a team member was assigned to cover each major town office such as the town hall and courthouse as well as all newspaper offices and the University campuses. Dixon attached himself to the primary severance team that had the daunting task of trying to follow Dean. Switching cars and tails and breaking off when it was apparent he was going to a covered location made the task manageable.

During the first day of surveillance Dean was relaxing, having a beer and chatting with a pretty bartender at a tavern restaurant near the Inn when he turned sideways in his seat and glanced around the room. It would have looked like a casual gesture to anyone else but Dixon knew the young hunter was looking for whoever was watching him. Dean continued his flirting until he was given his take out dinner but he never stopped looking for the culprit. Dixon couldn't help but admire anyone who could sense a stake out from across the street. He made a call to the Illutu and had long range surveillance equipment send. The flak regarding his obsession with the human hunter had begun but a few sharp words stopped it. This time.

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**Day Four  
**

Dixon climbed back into his Buick town car and sat, and sat, and sat. He watched Dean's stake out from a roof top several blocks away. As he observed Dean observing the house he called Owen in the research department of Nisutu, gave him the address and told him to run a complete check on the house. By the dinner hour Owen reported that six families purchased the house over the past fifty years and all but the first family suffered the death of their teenage sons. Dixon agreed it was damned mysterious but couldn't think of one creature that would wait for boys to reach puberty then throw them over a railing. Dixon was hoping Dean was hunting a demon. They had always believed the only one who could exorcise a demon was a trained clergyman. An exorcist. It would be existing to learn there were lay people who could, even if it was hunters. Dixon was momentarily disappointed when Dean drove away but smiled when he parked and came back. Dixon followed him to the side window and was debating with himself about whether or not he should follow him when he heard the shotgun reports. First he dove through the window then for cover. The house was permeated with the chlorine bleach like odour of ozone mixed with the vile nauseating stench of decomposition.

What he found wasn't the demon he had hoped for. It was something even more startling. The Barbaru firmly believed that on those rare occasions when disembodied souls were able to cross over into the land of the living they were impotent beings without substance or matter, barely able to communicate. Houses only erupted into flying furnishings in movies like "Poltergeist". Spirits didn't attack people with canes or help them up and out of the house. He hid in a corner as Dean and the girl rushed past him, waited a moment then while the other spirit howled and turned everything in the house upside down Dixon dove out the window. He stayed in the shadows following the incredible couple and watched until they drove away. He had to see it, speak to it as Dean did. He had to look into it's eyes and see unequivocally that it was a spirit.

Dixon approached Dean's motel room door with some trepidation. Many of her kind? That's what she said, 'many of my kind'. A part of him wanted to walk away and let things go on as they always had. He was not the warrior breed his brother had been preferring peace and continuity. A tempest would be set in motion with the rapping of his knuckles on the door. He hesitated but Dixon was never one to hide behind walls or run from the truth and he wasn't going to start now. The smell of ozone had followed the hunter to his room, he had to see, besides he'd had been spotted by Dean peeking out the window. It took several minutes for Dean to come to the door and when he did he had a towel pressed to his head. Dixon had a pleasant casual smile on his face to greet Dean with, looked appropriately startled at finding him injured and almost pushed his way into the room.

"Dean I thought it was you. Good God. What happened to you?" he said stepping inside the room.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something." Dean tried to get rid of him.

"I'll say, you're a bloody mess?" He said, thinking Dean looked even worse up close.

"Are we working the same job?" Dean asked finding his presence here too coincidental.

"I don't know. Three missing girls with connections to the occult?" Dixon gave the excuse he'd carefully prepared for this inevitable meeting, "Ten miles north of here. There's no need for concern. The girls merely ran away from home."

"Oh. I'm working the house that kills teenage boys. Do you live near here?" Dean pressed for further explication for his presence.

"Scranton, a few hours south and west." Dixon answered glad he'd prepared himself for the third degree. "I was quite startled when I spotted your marvellous classic out there." he completed his alibi then indicated the towel, "Shouldn't you have that taken care of."

"Yah I should so if you don't mind." Dean said rather sharply.

"Of course not." Dixon deliberately misunderstood and grabbed Dean's jacket, "Here, I'll drive. Or was that redundant."

"No, I can't go to a hospital." Dean refused growing irritated, dizziness and weakness were setting in. Though he didn't think the blow hard enough to cause a concussion, it was a real headache inducer.

"You must. You need stitches." Dixon insisted having a good look a Dean's head for the first time, and wondering how the hell he managed to get here.

"I need to be left alone." Dean snarled and started looking around for his .45, funny he couldn't remember where he left it, 'Oh yah the dresser.'

Fortunately Dean was standing beside the chair in front of the dresser when the dizzy spell hit him and a pair of supportive arms helped him fall in the right direction. Evelyn appeared in the mirror behind him her gentle arms holding him about the shoulders. Hadn't he told her to fade out?

"Bloody hell!" Dixon exclaimed as the strange girl from the house materialized in front of him.

There only two feet in front of him stood something that was not supposed to exist. Confidence in the status of the Masiru Barbaru as the true warriors of God was suddenly on shaky ground. How could they be the great and powerful Masiru if there was a form of evil they did not hunt and destroy? Or was it evil? Could it be they were never told because there was no threat?

"If what is needed is sewing should I not do it quickly?" Evelyn asked anxiously.

Dean's hand grabbed the weapon on the dresser and lifted it up as a warning and Dixon who knew precisely what it meant.

"You hurt her I gank you." Dean told him.

No that's not what he thought Dean meant. That is, if gank did mean what he thought it meant

"I have no intention of hurting anyone." Dixon assured him.

He watched in fascination as the spirit girl took up the needle and began stitching the scalp closed. He had heard about it and seen it on television but never witnessed the stitching of a human being. There was something incredibly barbaric about it. The wound had already been half stitched and she took up where she left off. She worked in quiet concentration making careful precise stitches, closing the small scalp laceration. As Dean began to weaken Dixon took over the task of dabbing around the wound, clearing the blood away. In this close proximity Dixon could see Dean's skin was flush and hot. He didn't know a great deal about illness but it seemed to him the fever set in very quickly. Too quickly.

"I think you need a doctor." he tried again.

"There's a house full of dead people, a cop and his family." Dean stated, "This isn't a bullet wound but it will attract too damned much attention. I'm a gambler but I don't like the odds."

"How did they die." Dixon asked thinking about the shot gun reports.

Surely he didn't shoot them in the twisted belief that they were all possessed. No this wasn't about demons, he had to remember that.

"Herbert." Dean answered.

Perhaps if he did not have a fever he would have said more. At least it confirmed that Dean did not shoot the family and that was some comfort.

"You have a temperature, you need antibiotics." Dixon insisted.

"That bag over there." Dean said turning in his seat, "Penicillin is always a good bet."

Dean seemed to be getting worse by the minute and that in it's self was curious. How could a man be on his feet, strong, competent and rational then only minutes later dazed, in a sweat and week as a kitten? No infection could do this to a man in only an hour or two. Dixon helped the hunter to his bed, removed his boots and covered him. While Evelyn knelt by the bed and began to pray Dixon took out his phone and made a call.

* * *

Castiel stood behind the vale that exists between the ethereal and natural world as he often did giving Dean his privacy while observing the world he had not visited for two thousand years. He had been content to watch mankind from a distance marvelling over their creations and puzzling over their mistakes. In all that time it never disturbed him that he didn't understand these creations of his father but now it was necessary for him to look closer and try to comprehend the great mystery that was man. Though Dean said he was not the best example of a human being, Castiel found he was possessed of many of mans finest qualities. Flawed but virtuous.

As he waited by the bed Castiel watched the young girl offer prayers for Dean's return to health. He was rather impressed with the penitents heart felt devotions to God and her concern for Dean. Few come to learn the lesson of penance so quickly after such a selfish act. He smiled at her and silently promised to intercede if the Masiru could not unravel the mystery of Dean's illness. Zachariah may call it interfering contrary to his orders but he'd risk it. He answered to a higher power now. Evelyn's head rose interrupting her petitions and glanced around the room slowly zeroing in on the spot where Castiel stood unseen. One ethereal being can always sense another.

He knelt down and whispered in the girl's ear, "Continue your petitions and you will be heard."

Evelyn smiled her heart filling with joy, then returned to her prayers with renewed hope and passion. Never before had her prayers been answered by a voice from above. It gave her hope not only for Dean but for herself. It could only mean God had seen her contrite heart and she would soon be granted forgiveness for her sins. Evelyn doubled her efforts in praying for an intervention.

* * *

Dixon put away his phone and sat down beside the bed to speak to the little ghost girl. When he resolved to watch the young hunter his interest had been demons. His Illutu like many others was not particularly busy. He attributed it to doing their job so well the world was running out of monsters. Dixon was trying to drum up more business for his painfully bored people.

Apparently there was more business out there than he had anticipated and learning about it from an attractive young man would be a bonus. Dixon looked atDean as sweat beaded on his face and thought better of a blanket on a fevered man. He pulled the cover from Dean and began to sponge his face and neck with a cool damp cloth. It would be hours before Lena arrived. Time enough to find some answers.

"Do you have a name." He asked Evelyn.

"Of course." she looked at him startled, "I am Evelyn Chandler, the sister of Herbert Chandler."

'Ah, Herbert.' "And may I know who Herbert Chandler is?" He asked eager to understand.

"My brother, the one who attacked Mr. Winchester." she explained.

"I see." Dixon responded only a little less confused, "And do you know why he did that?"

"When Herbert was first killed he was very angry." Evelyn answered turning from Dean and looking up at Dixon, "Who would not be angry if they are murdered in their own home. I tried to console him but he would not be comforted. He grew angrier and angrier until he became deranged."

Dixon hadn't quite come to grips with the fact that he was talking to someone who was dead as if he was making a new acquaintance. The eyes and pallor were quite startling but they could be attributed to cleaver make up. Even the wounds on her wrists could be explained the same way but there was no escaping the fact that one minute he was alone with Dean and the next this girl was standing before him. No creature he had ever encountered could do that but one, and this young teenaged girl was not a Messenger. Besides Messengers don't smell of ozone. He checked his watch, Scranton was almost two hours away.

"Would you mind telling me your story." He asked Evelyn.

"I was born in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and one. I was raised in a good home to be a proper lady and was betrothed to a wonderful man who adored me and I him." She began without ceremony, "When I was told my beloved was killed in the great war I fell into despair.

"The great war, I see." Dixon nodded, remembering it was what people called WWI many decades ago.

"Yes. He volunteered as soon as his education was complete. He swore an oath to return to me and make me his wife but he did not. I gave him the gift of my virtue before he left and I was with child. I could not bare the shame as well as the loss of Milton and ended my life and the life of our child. I had hoped to join Milton. Now I serve my penance for my selfishness."

"How long does this penance last?" Dixon asked some what sympathetic.

"For some it is brief for others longer. We are not told, yet every dusk and dawn we join in praise and glory as many are called to heaven." She replied, "I took my life in the year nineteen hundred and seventeen, my penance has not been a full century yet."

"Do you know how many like you are out there?" He asked.

"I do not know, we penitents do not share names or stories when we join in prayer but we are many. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions."

Evelyn them bowed her head and returned to her prayers and Dixon left her to them. According to statistics approximately one hundred and fifty five thousand people die each day. Considering the average person has wondered from the path, at some point in their life the numbers of spirits about the world could be staggering. Considering there are two and a half billion cities in the world one would hope the praying spirits are well spread out. Dixon rose from his chair at Dean's bedside, poured himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey on the bed side table and began to study the wall of articles hoping to find some clues as to how this young man's mind worked. He read Dean's little notes and tried to follow the arrows but it was like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle without the benefit of a picture. Dixon became so intent on his jigsaw he almost didn't hear the knock on the door. Had it been two hours already?

The moment the rap sounded Evelyn vanished. That was rather convenient Dixon thought and opened the door. As expected he found Lena Tennyson, medical bag in hand scowling at him. Having roused her from a dead sleep at two in the morning he could expect nothing else. She greeted him civilly enough all things considered and marched into the room. Dixon was amazed at how some women could hop out of bed looking like they just stepped out of a beauty salon but Lena was not one of them. Her fair complexion looked pale without makeup, her hair was touched by a brush but only just and it was obvious she jumped into the first pair of pants and pullover she found. If she'd been called to attend victims of a monster hunt she would have arrived eager, attentive and compassionate. Called to attend a human hunter, well she neither laughed nor cursed and came, so Dixon called it a win.

"Is this one of the hunters in Allegheny park?" she asked.

"Yes the one who was grabbed by the wendigo." Dixon admitted.

"The one who asked if we were armatures or just incompetent?" she sniffed.

"The very same." Dixon didn't even try to hide the fact.

"And why precisely are we trying to save this hairless ape?" she asked indignantly.

Dixon gave her the only answer that would be accepted at that moment, "Because it is my wish."

The doctor nodded accepting the directive and examined the patient in a professional and attentive manner however she grew agitated as time passed. She paused, a growl rumbling from her throat giving voice to her frustration. After a five minutes stew, with Dixon's help, she stripped her patient to his shorts. They both paused a moment, taken aback by the network of scares and the brace on his leg. Lena quickly put the disturbing sight from her mind and gave him a complete and thorough examination.

"The wound in his head is fresh?" she asked.

"Three hours at the most." he answered.

"What is this on his face." she asked of the flesh coloured smear on her fingers.

"I have no idea."

The doctor took an alcohol wipe to the hunters face in the hopes of finding something that might explain his diminished condition but only found more scares older than some on his chest but younger than some on his arms and legs. Dixon was mortified to see a face so beautiful so horribly marred. But the scares were not the most startling discovery. As she checked his abdomen for signs of appendicitis and other conditions she found the tattoo.

"What is a human doing with this guardian icon tattooed on his body?" Lena asked disturbed by the sight of the symbol tattooed on every Masiru within weeks of his or her birth.

"I haven't a bloody clue." Dixon breathed, "What is wrong with him?"

"I haven't a bloody clue." She answered.

"There's only one thing left to do. Brace yourself Lena, this is going to be a shock." Dixon warned her. "Miss Chandler, we need to speak with you. We can not help him if we don't know what has happened. Please help us by telling us all you know. I give you my solemn oath no harm will come to you."

Lena wasn't sure what Dixon could possibly be doing. There wasn't anyone hiding in the room. She would have smelled her the moment she walked in the door. There was a strange odour other than the hunter but it wasn't human or any beast she knew of. When a young girl no more than fifteen or sixteen appeared on the other side of the bed it took all of Lena's self control not to yelp. The girl's sunken eyes and pallor skin suggested she was on her death bed but as she appeared out of thin air Lena wasn't about to make any quick judgements.

Dixon smiled greeting her with a gentlemanly bow of his head, "Miss Chandler, thank you for coming."

She responded with a polite curtsy, "I will help in any way I can."

"May I introduce Doctor Lena Tennyson." he presented the doctor, "Lena, the late Miss Evelyn Chandler."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Evelyn curtsied respectfully for the doctor.

"Charmed." Lena managed, 'Did he say the late Miss Chandler?'

Dixon brought a chair for each of the ladies quickly for he didn't know how much longer Lena's self control would hold then sat himself on the end of the bed. He would have liked to go into a lengthy explanation of how he came upon this discovery and hear Lena's thoughts on this revelation but time seemed to be a factor here and Evelyn might not understand.

"I'll tell the doctor all I know. Please feel free to interrupt with anything you can add. I'm afraid I know very little." Dixon got things under way.

"Of course." Evelyn agreed quickly.

After so many decades unable to do anything more than watch and pray, Evelyn was overjoyed with the prospect of contributing if only by imparting all she'd seen. She listen patently as Dixon filled the doctor in on the history of the house and finished with a few sentences about the stake out of the Chandler home now owned by the police officer.

"You will have to tell us what happened when Dean entered your home and how the family was killed." Dixon turned the floor over to Evelyn.

"Herbert killed the family before Dean came into the house." Evelyn began.

"Wait , Herbert your dead brother? How is that possible?" Lena asked.

"He beats them with the cane the young burglars murdered him with then throws them over the railing as they did him." Evelyn answered misunderstanding the question.

The telling of Evelyn's tale became an ordeal of constant interruptions and questions most of which she didn't understand. Dixon did his best to intercede for poor Evelyn encouraging Lena to simply listen and accept what was said as a fact. Sadly Evelyn found an end to her patience and called a halt to the story telling which had turned into an interrogation.

"Doctor I have told you all that I can." Evelyn announced, "If you choose not to believe me I can not help that though I take great offence to being called a liar to my face. Now if you will excuse me I will return to something far more productive."

With that Evelyn knelt at Dean's bedside clasped her hands together and began to silently pray. Here Dixon took up the tail and described what he saw when he jumped in the window.

"This is ridicules." Lena insisted doing her best not to hyperventilate.

"What, you don't believe your own eyes?" Dixon demanded gesturing to Evelyn.

"I don't know what to think." Lena admitted, "We've laughed at people who believe in this. I don't …."

"Lena, you are one of the most level headed and rational people I know." Dixon said taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. "We have to deal with what's right in front of us or that young man will die."

* * *

Castiel had no idea what obstacle these Masiru Barbaru were trying to overcome, what it was they didn't understand, but they didn't have the time to work it out. Or rather Dean didn't have the time. Time to interfere and hope they all got away with it. Dean's mind was swimming in a disjointed fever but bringing order to it was not as difficult as Castiel expected. Quickly the beach by the lake appeared around him followed by Dean sitting in the sand, sipping on a beer and watching gulls diving for food.

"Dean you are dieing." Castiel announced rushing up to him.

"Yah, I figured." Dean glanced up at him a scowl on his face, "What is it? Some kind of ghost disease?"

"Precisely, Herbert infected you when he struck you." Castiel confirmed.

"Isn't that hunter Dixon trying to find whatever part of Herby is still hanging around?" Dean asked with little hope.

"He has yet to figure out what is killing you." Castiel answered.

"I don't suppose you could tell him?" Dean asked.

"No, but you can." Castiel replied, "Be prepared, you will have little time."

Castiel popped out of Dean's head without telling him what to prepare for and knelt to whisper to the praying penitent. If this girl had the courage to act it would be the best solution to the problem but if not he would have to step in and that would be difficult to explain. He didn't want to try. He looked at the innocent little face so intent in her petitions, stepped out in faith and became a disembodied voice answering her prayers.

'_It is up to you penitent. A Sacrifice is required of you if he is to be saved. The dawn approaches, your strength grows. He needs it. Give it to him. You can save him young penitent if you have the faith and the courage."_

Evelyn looked up to the window to see the darkness beginning to grey. The voices had already begun to call to her but she was so intent in her prayers she hadn't noticed. The moment the sun touched the sky Evelyn would be at her strongest. The voices would raise to a crescendo and she would be filled with the passion and faith of millions of hearts coming together in a song of joy. It was what all penitents waited for, existed for, it kept them going through the decades, through the centuries. Those few minutes of unity that brought the light of the world into their souls making their spirits sing with it's perfect joy. It lingered through the long hours of day and darkness until they touched again as they united in worship.

"Now, hear him!" she shouted as it touched her soul and she laid her hands on Dean's chest.

The cry drew Dixon and Lena from their debate. They looked over to the bed in time to witness the ghost girl flash white, fall to the floor in a faint and vanish. The spectacle was followed by a gasp from Dean bringing the Barbaru to his bedside. His fevered eyes popped open dazed for a moment then they focused on Dixon.

"Salt and burn." He said in a raspy voice.

"What, what does that mean?" Dixon demanded in desperation.

"The spirit that infected me. Herbert, there's some part of him." Dean gasped, every breath an ordeal, "Find it, salt and burn it. Forty eight hours, all I got."

"Some part of him, his property? His, … what?." Dixon struggled to understand.

"Hair, blood, baby tooth, something." Dean forced himself to go on, "Salt and burn it."

I think it's time to turn this over to the proper authorities." Lena called a halt to the madness.

"Shut up, bitch, I'm fighting for my life here." Dean managed to roar with surprising power, "There's no real hunter close enough to do this. It's up to you. Who's got a keepsake?"

"I'll find it." Dixon promised, as Dean faded away.

"We have to take him to a hospital. It's probably something that has been incubating in him for some time." Lena found a medical explanation that made more sense than anything else that was being offered, "The first sign of weakness and it takes over. That makes sense. There is nothing we can do for him. We have to put him in the hands of his own kind and quickly before he starts an epidemic."

Dixon stared at her in utter confusion. Lena was the member of his Illutu he always counted on to be the voice of reason amid the chaos that can be a council meeting. She was not inclined to judgments based on personal preferences or prejudice. Lena looked at the facts as was her scientific mind set. How could she not see what was right in front of her.

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, "Are you just rejecting everything we've both seen?" he paused as another thought came to him and hoping he was wrong asked, "Or is it the 'real hunter' that has your knickers in a twist?"

"I saw one incredibly powerful spirit that has somehow manifested on this side of the vale." Lena reasoned but with her nose completely out of joint, "She hasn't done any harm and isn't capable of it, as has always been known. I certainly don't see any sign of a ghost infection. It's ridiculous."

"I saw a spirit attack this boy, I saw it create a great poltergeist and I saw that girl stitch up his head." Dixon added his eye witness account.

"Dix, you know a poltergeist is a pubescent teen who's emotional conflicts are manifesting in telekinetic phenomena." Lena argued.

"Dead people can't create a poltergeist." Dixon stated a simple fact he couldn't believe Lena was ignoring, "And unless you're going to try to claim I was hallucinating there are two spirits who have manifested in that house and the old man did a great deal of harm to that boy's head not to mention the six he murdered last night. Accept the reality that is in front of you Lena. Now I am calling the Illutu to get a list of all the direct descendants of Herbert Chandler. Stand with me not because I command it but because you believe me and the evidence of your own eyes."

"Will you answer one question?" she said and when Dixon nodded she asked, "Do you know for a fact that the people in the house were all dead and that this hunter didn't kill them?"

"I smelled bodies that were rotting at least a day." Dixon answered, "Dean couldn't have killed them and no one was alive to create the poltergeist."

Lena nodded her acceptance and Dixon once again called home. Conflict in the Illutu was a fact of life but having his veracity questioned was new. To avoid the argument Dixon did not explain why he wanted the information. He made the request and ended it with 'It is my wish.' then poured Lena and himself a drink and sat in the chair vacated by Evelyn. Lena was young for a Barbaru but had always seemed wise for her years providing him with calm logical well balanced council. He didn't expect her composer would be so challenged by these revelations. Was it that astonishing? What was it about these discoveries that so troubled her.

"Don't you realize what this means?" She asked.

"That we have a few things to learn?" He suggested as a reasonable response to the event.

"The Illutu live by a doctrine which clearly defines who and what we are." Lena answered, her frustration with his ignorance clear in her face and voice, "This challenges some of our most fundamental beliefs."

"Which beliefs?" Dixon demanded growing frustrated with his highly valued councillor, "The ones that define our purpose or the ones that place us higher on the evolutionary scale than humans?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Lena sniffed.

Ridiculous was the extent of her argument and it was hopeful that Lena didn't seem eager to argue the point. If she thought she was in the right she would have lead with her best arguments. Dixon desperately wanted her on his side.

"We have sneered at human hunters for centuries, laughed at the Quradu even regarded their slaughter as an inevitability." Dixon continued, "How can we call ourselves Masiru when we so abhor those we were created to protect. We don't hunt for their sake anymore. We do it because it's our nature and it gives us purpose. One that supports our conceited belief in our superiority and." He paused for affect, "Our piety." Dixon began his argument with a hammer punch.

"We don't have a low opinion of the average human." Lena snapped reacting as much to the accusation in his tone as his words, "Look what he's done to himself. He'd die in this room if you weren't here. He's the one that ruined the wendigo hunt and was almost killed then has the audacity to call us armatures. WE were chosen to stand between man and evil. The Messengers came to us. Human's should not trespass. They haven't the strength, the skill or the instincts for it and only hurt themselves. Look at him."

"The Quradu claimed Messengers came to them and we chose not to belief them. We were like children crying we were here first." Dixon used a gentler tone seeing it was more complicated than simple conceit, "We have not heard from them in over a thousand years. There had been centuries of silence when the Quradu appeared. Our passion has became arrogance and our devotion mere ritual. We no longer regard our role as guardians as a sacred trust but our right and privilege. Ducky, it may be that we haven't heard from the Messengers because we've fallen out of favour and that was why the Quradu were created?"

"No!" Lena declared emphatically, "We fulfill our duties faithfully."

"Then why did they tell the Quradu about the demons and spirits?" Dixon asked, and stopped her when she opened her mouth to argue, "There are spirits. You can't reason or logic away what we saw here. Don't even try darling. If they're right about this then they're right about the demons and WE were not told."

Ssssssssssssssssss

Evelyn was frightened and confused when she arose a spirit and was told by the radiant light that her selfish act of ending her life and the life of her child cause immeasurable pain to her family. Before she could enter into heaven she would have to repent. She witnessed the pain she caused and ached for her mother, father and brother and wept for them but found comfort in remaining in the house and when she began to experience the joy of the union of souls in worship she found hope and in time faith that her penance would one day end.

In all the years of her penance Evelyn never left the house, or it's grounds. She watched the horse and cart replaced by the automobile from the upper floor deck and the front lawn. She saw the gramophone replaced by the stereo in the comfort of her own parlour and marvelled when the first television was brought into the den . Evelyn watched the world evolve from the safety of her own home without distress. She was pleased when Herbert joined her and provided her with company and even when he grew angrier finely loosing all reason and began his murderous spree Evelyn was never afraid. It never entered her mind that even mad her brother could ever hurt her.

Evelyn floated in cold empty space confused and frightened her entire being feeling rung out and hollow. She cried out to the voice that spoke to her to come and save her, she had after all only done what she was told, but no one answered and she began to weep. It finely came to her that this was the absence of the light of the world. This was what it felt like to have unable to see the light of the world, to be without hope or faith for she had given hers to Dean. How horrible it must have been for Herbert to watch her rejoice and not be a part of it.

When her thoughts turned to the cause of her current distress she realized she had know knowledge of what happened to Dean. She wondered if had her gift worked, was he better now? Her moment of panic was brief. The messenger said it would save Dean and she would not loose faith. Evelyn gave thanks for having been given the opportunity to share her faith and joy and have it give strength and hope to someone, for she had no doubt that was exactly what happened and offered her penance for Herbert and Dean. As she began to pray Evelyn's fear of the darkness began to fade and the cold became easier to endure.

ssssssssssss

The machinations and manipulations Dixon had to go through to find what he was looking for was not foreign to him but the time constraints put him on edge and treading in new territory made everything that much more stressful but wearing a mask was a skill all leaders knew well. Dixon slipped into his charming personal relations persona as he interviewed the Chandler family. 'He had plans of turning the Chandler home into a period museum and was hoping to include a few personal items of the original family.' he told them and asked if they had some something they would consider selling or donating? He was offered a teapot from a great grandmother, a doll from Evelyn both of which he purchased in order to maintain the charade. When Luke Chandler said he would consider selling them his grandfathers cane Dixon knew he found what he was looking for.

It was four in the afternoon when Dixon, arrayed in a fine business suit, knocked at Luke Chandler's home armed with a receipt book and two hundred dollars. It was an absurd sum for a cane of simple oak with a carved wooden handle but it had to be the remains he was looking for. Evelyn had said the hoodlums beat her brother to death with his own cane. Hairline cracks in the intricately carved handle had to have traces of blood.

Lena, Emeline Becker, Lance Rickman and Haskell Merton all gathered around as Dixon stood by a trash can, Lena reluctantly holding salt and lighter fluid. He had sent the surveillance teams home but kept his best team to back him up and was glad for the witnesses. He once again asked Evelyn to appear guaranteeing her safety. God bless her, she did drawing gasps and starts from all but Lena.

"Thank you Miss Chandler." Dixon observed proper etiquette, "Could you tell me is this cane your brother's?"

As Evelyn approached the gathered men and women came a little closer to get a better look then stepped back nervous giving her a wide berth. Emeline's curiosity quickly took over and she stepped in for a closer look. She studied the pallor skin and sunken eyes and didn't hide her notice of the slashed wrists.

"Yes, it is Herbert's." Evelyn confirmed.

"You took your own life?" Emeline asked her lack of tact drawing a glare from Dixon.

"Yes." Evelyn answered her chin elevating slightly, "We all behave selfishly at one time or another and we all must pay the price for it. Some judgements are harsher than others."

"And what was the judgement against you?" Emeline asked ignoring Dixon's glare.

"Ardutu natalu ikku kudurru!" Dixon barked.

'_Young woman watch your boundaries!'_

Emeline bristled under the reprimand. She was a long time and very close friend of Dixon's and was for a time his lover. She was accustomed to privileges most were not but rarely took advantage of them. Dixon could see in the stiff posture of her tall powerful form that she was highly agitated and was trying to hide it behind bluster. Though he understood and sympathised, he could not be forgiving. The situation was far to volatile to allow indelicate posturing even by dear Emiline.

"Miss Chandler, when you revived Dean he said to save him we must salt and burn some part of Herbert that was left behind." Dixon explained, "Do you know what will happen?"

"I am sorry Mr. Channing, Herbert is not a penitent." Evelyn apologised, "I don't know what it will do but if Mr. Winchester said it would save him then I'm sure it will. He seemed to understand these things."

"Why do you say that Miss Chandler." Lance Rickman a far more diplomatic hunter, asked.

"He has a strange riffle that can hurt Herbert." Evelyn answered and pointed out Dean's sawed off, "I don't know what it is or why it works but he said it was a trick of the trade. Hunting evil spirits is his profession."

"I see, thank you." Lance smiled at her then turned raised eyebrows to Dixon.

Dixon only smiled in return, dropped the cane, handle down, into the trash can and asked Lena to pour in the salt and lighter fluid as he ignited his lighter but before he could drop it Evelyn cried "Herbert!" The room exploded in flying lamps and chairs each aimed at someone around the trash can. A chair flew into Haskell's back ripping a growl from the burly Barbaru as he whirled around looking for his assailant. The shrivelled old man stood in the kitchenette howling with rage. Herbert flickered in and out of sight as he advanced on Emeline his cane raised over his head, his eyes bulging and his mouth curled in a cruel snarl. Emeline crouched growling as she prepared for the fight. Dixon leapt over the couch that slid at him but Lena was pinned to the wall by it while Lance ducked knives and other cutlery leaping out of the drawer at him. Haskell didn't wait for the crazy little man to attack Emeline, jumping on Herbert himself only to land on the floor and role in time to see the cane coming down towards his head.

As Dixon landed on the floor on all fours trying again for the trash can Evelyn tried to jump on her brother again. An invisible force hit her dropping her to the floor her eyes staring blank at the ceiling. As furniture flew about him Lance was looking for one item. It had been on the kitchenette table which had flipped over. As Dixon crawled to the trashcan and scrambled for the cane Lance managed to find the sawed off shotgun and fire. In the few moments there was peace, Dixon stuffed the cane back in the trashcan and ignited it.

As Dixon dropped the lighter in the can Herbert reappeared behind him. Lena shouted a warning and Dixon turned. Everyone watched as the shrivelled old man raised his spectral cane over his head. As the salt, fluid and cane burst into flames so did Herbert. He screamed and disintegrated like a flaming sheet of paper. A heavy silence hung over the room as the Barbaru picked themselves up from the floor glanced awkwardly around the room and exchanged astonished looks. For several long minutes the only sound that could be heard was Evelyn gasp then quietly whimper. Until Dean slowly pulled himself up in bed.

"I must of missed one hell of a party." He said looking around at the disaster that was his room then he smiled at Dixon, "My man, you did it."

"Yes with a little help." Dixon answered indicating the team.

Dean climbed out of bed and froze. He looked down at his all but naked form, cleared his throat then reached for a pair of jeans and T shirt.

"Don't tell me." He told Dixon with a wave of his hand, "I don't want to know. Ever."

Dixon couldn't help chuckling as he made his introductions, "This is Doctor Lena Tennyson. She looked after you as we hunted for the cane. This is Emeline Becker, Lance Rickman and Haskell Merton our organizations best team who's help was invaluable ."

"I rated your best team, cool. Guys." He grinned and offered them a nod in greeting, "The cane he was beaten to death with. That makes sense." Dean padded over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer then noticed Evelyn's distress, "Hey sweetheart, did you see that?" Dean asked dropping to the floor to comfort her.

Evelyn pulled herself up gasping and hugging herself trembling from the force of Herbert's attack. Through the cold and darkness she'd was drifting in she'd heard Dixon's voice calling promising her safety. Her first thought was, it would be wonderful to be able to help them again danger be damned, and instantly she found herself back in the hunter's room the cold and darkness gone and forgotten. Herbert's attack was a cold, deeper and more penetrating, that struck her, a cold filled with rage and madness. She lay on the floor paralyzed horrified that she had failed everyone and cried out 'Heavenly Father and all the angels please protect them'. The moment Herbert burst into flames the icy weight lifted to be replaced by pain. Mad or not he was her brother and she loved him. She hesitantly leaned into Dean accepting his comforting arm and Dean began to softly rock her.

"When Herbert attacked me I felt this terrible hateful rage. I would never have thought he could hate me." She cried, "Can anyone who feels such hate be in Heaven? Mr. Winchester please tell me, is my brother in hell?"

Dean shook his head and sighed his expression mildly stressed but he put down his beer and pasted a gentle smile on his face before taking her chin in his hand, raising her eyes to his.

"Herbert would never hurt you. That was a totally insane spirit. He didn't even know who you were. Am I right Dixon?" He told her.

"No question." Dixon agreed crouching beside the weeping spirit, "He had no idea who you were."

After considering their comforting words Evelyn nodded in agreement but there was still the primary concern and asked, "Do the mad go to hell?"

"Na." Dean answered making a face but when Evelyn only stared in confusion he added, "No where in the Bible does it say insanities a sin. If it was I'd be totally screwed."

"You're funny." She grinned.

"Got you to smile. A very pretty smile." Dean answered.

Evelyn giggled like the school girl she should have been, becoming very self-conscious straitening her nightgown and fussing with her hair. Dixon offered her a helping hand as she rose. Dean didn't miss the look of wonder in Dixon's eyes as he drew the girl to her feet and was not surprised that he received no help himself. All eyes were on Evelyn.

"What was that mojo you put on me." Dean asked her.

"The what?" She asked, "I don't understand."

"It's okay, just thanks for the help." Dean said sincerely

"My pleasure." Evelyn said with a curtsy and a grin.

"Yes thank you for your assistance. You were heroic." Dixon said putting his lips to her hand.

Evelyn fell in a gracious curtsy and would have blushed if she could have. Dixon raised a hand to waved his team over when his face became troubled. He looked to Dean who came over to see what the problem was. Evelyn's face had gone blank. Dean furrowed his brow and tilted his head looking her over as if studying a curiosity. Slowly Evelyn's face came to life as she turned to face the window. She walked toward it a blissful smile spreading across her face as the sun's rays blazed across the sky.

"Oh of course. They unite in prayer at sunrise and sunset." Dixon remembered.

"I am called." Evelyn cheered, "I am called. I have learned to give selflessly and to forgive unconditionally and so I receive as I have given."

Evelyn raised her eyes to the sky crying out in joy 'I am forgiven' flashed a brilliant white and vanished.

"Still not old." Dean said then turned to Dixon, "They always go to the window. Weird." He mused then to no one muttered, "I hope she's not too disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Dixon asked.

"In heaven." Dean answered.

"It's paradise." Emeline stated as fact.

Dean looked at her an eyebrow raised and asked, "Who's?"

She looked at the others in the room a little confused and a great deal annoyed but Dean didn't care. He finished his beer, tossed the bottle in the trashcan and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as they gathered at the other end of the room and spoke in hushed whispers. He didn't have to make an effort to feel that something that was in the cavern in Allegheny. It was a primal sensation but it didn't set off any alarms. Was it something idiosyncratic to hunters? The only sense of threat he felt was from the tall red headed Amazon. Other than her hostility the only emotions Dean could distinguish was agitation.

He could sense each individual poker players' satisfaction or disappointment the moment they looked at their cards. He could even tell how good their hand was by their degree of excitement and confidence. It wasn't a matter of reading people, their body language, the way they held their cards, or shifted in their seats, the changes in their breathing, or the expression in their eyes as he always had before. He could feel their emotions coming off them like heat waves, he could even smell it. Fear had a distinctive sour smell that came out in sweat. It wasn't hard for Dean to pick up on that one. He knew how fear smelled on him having lived with it every day as a boy and again as his decent into Hell came closer and close. Anger had it's own sharp odour which was something else he lived with for many years.

But from these people agitation was the best he could do. He attributed it to the emotional discipline of the hunter. As Dean dropped drip grounds into the coffee maker he reached all the way to the back of the cutlery drawer, grabbed the pistol he had hidden in there and stuffed it in his belt. Dean gave them another minute for their supposed private conversation. He always had good hearing but now it was so much better he could distinguish the emotional inflection in each word. So they had never seen a spirit before. What kind of hunters were they?

"Mind if I butt in?" Dean butt in.

"This is a private conversation." Emeline snapped irritated.

"Then don't have it in my room." Dean snapped back.

"We just saved your life, you should show respect." Emeline barked loosing her temper.

"Maharu ki gummuru pirittu." Dixon snapped painfully quietly.

'_Receive your last warning.'_

Dean watched with some satisfaction as the red head snapped back like she'd been punched. He walked slowly up to her with his favourite 'I dare you' smirk on his face. She was at least as tall as he and amazingly buff, for a girl. He didn't doubt she'd leave a scare or two on him. He stopped in front of her eye to eye. After a quick glance at Dixon she reluctantly stepped back.

'Not one damned bit afraid of me.' Dean thought as he turned to Dixon and said, "Yah you did but what I don't get is why I had to tell you how to do it?"

"We didn't know spirits existed so we don't know how to fight them." he answered very simply, "I'm also interested in learning about demons."

"Demons?" Dean was surprised, 'one thing at a time kiddies.'

"You said they're on the rise and spirits, well the girl was helpful and they seem to be in the majority." Dixon explained his reasoning.

"Oh dude." Dean groaned and ambled over to the fridge, stopped himself taking a coffee instead, dropped into a chair at the table and fired up his laptop, "It would only take a couple of hours to find a vengeful spirit. They are everywhere. Some are … grab a coffee have a seat." when only Dixon moved to join him Dean waved the others over, "Sit, I hate looking up." He growled then began a search as he spoke, "Some like Herbert are angry from the get go, others not so much. They start out lost, confused whatever, but grow angry over time. Some are triggered by an event that raises them. The list goes on. Then there's the others, the ones that hang around to do something, trying to find someone or something, seeking justice, … death omens … different shit. The supernatural is like everything else, not all one thing or the other."

"And demons are they good and evil….?" Dixon began.

"No, totally evil." Dean answered before Dixon finished, "Basically you don't get out of hell unless you're evil or rescued."

"May I ask a question?" Emeline asked.

"Go for it." Dean chimed quickly but she said nothing until Dixon gave her the nod.

"How long have you been hunting, or even aware of the supernatural?"

Dean allowed himself half a smile, "I started training for this job when I was six. In other words pretty much all my life and believe me sweetheart I'm older than I look."

"And how old are you?" She asked with a mean grin.

"How old are you?" Dean fired back.

"Sakatu!" Dixon ordered leaving no room for argument.

'_Silence!' given as a command._

Emeline's mouth snapped shut. She froze in her chair her eyes wide with surprise then alarm. If there had been any doubt in Dean's mind who was in charge and how far that authority went, it was gone now. The lady was worried and Dean knew her type was not easily frightened. He actually felt a little sorry for her. Very little.

"I do apologise, we are not often so antagonistic." Dixon moved to sooth things over.

"Don't sweat it." Dean shrugged it off, "Look what exactly do you want from me?"

After a moment of silence Dixon answered, "I want you to teach us to hunt spirits and demons."

* * *

**Evelyn Chandler is a rather Anglo Saxon name and thus I tried to model her religious beliefs after those of the High Anglican church as someone of her time would probably practice however as I am Catholic I don't have intimate personal knowledge of Anglican beliefs so I apologize if I was too Catholic in my presentation of Evelyn.**

***"I receive as I have given" I based on the King James, revelations, "Judge not lest you be judged for as you judge so shall you be judged and as you give so shall you receive." **

****I hope I've peeked your curiosity about who and what the Nasiru Barbaru. There is an Akkadian translator on line if you wont to do a little research yourself. I promise you the mystery will gradually unfold.**

*****Will Dean ever figure out who these hunters are and what Dixon is really after? Will Dixon lose his control of Emiline and Dean end up back in the hospital? Is Sam still safe and happy back in Stanford or are the demons moving in on him and what of the romantic triangle of Sam, Brady and Jessica? For the answers to these questions and more tune in next week to the same bat time, same bat channel. Please tell me I'm not the only one that understands this joke.**

******I wish to express my deepest gratitude to all who have stuck with me through a less than impressive chapter.  
**


	23. Chapter 23 The Winds of Change

I don't own Sam, Dean or Supernatural but I do own Dixon and company.

I know this update has been a long time coming and I do apologise. I found it very difficult to write and I'm not entirely satisfied with it but I do hop you enjoy and I thank you for your patience.

I hope the new computer I am expecting to have very shortly improves the speed of my updates.

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**The Winds Of Change**

Dean stared at him in disbelief. He shook his head in wonder then decided this was too much to deal with, with just a coffee in his hand and grabbed his bottle. He poured himself a stiff one and swallowed it in one shot, paused then poured another and downed it before returning to the table, bottle in hand.

"I can't sit here and map out all the does and don'ts of spirit and demon hunting in a day or two." Dean explained amazed that he had to, "Sometimes you go into a situation and you don't know if it's a hitchhiker, a woman in white or random vengeance. With demons I wouldn't know where to start. This shit is damned complicated."

"I'm bloody aware." Dixon said loosing some of his diplomatic air.

"You aware that it's an on the job training thing, not a how to book thing?" Dean growled right back.

The statement brought Dixon up short. He heaved a big sigh and rested his chin on his fist to think the matter over. Dixon's deliberations were brought to an abrupt end when the door he was sure he locked swung open and a scruffy looking man in a trench coat barged in. Everyone jumped to their feet ready to contend with the intruder but Dean waved them down saying 'relax, he's a friend'. Castiel marched up to Dixon intruding on his personal space and stared him in the eye. The probing stare lasted only a moment but it was enough to unnerve Dixon.

"Cass, we've talked about personal space." Dean felt the need to say something.

He knew what Castiel was doing but also knew Dixon would expect intervention or an explanation, or at the very least an introduction.

"Dean we need to talk." Castiel stated.

"Yah, sure Cass." Dean answered hesitantly thinking Cass needs to get a new line, "I don't exactly have an office to step into."

"Outside." Cass solved the problem.

"Sure." Dean agreed and put on his boots.

Castiel didn't wait but marched out the door without a word. The Barbaru watched his departure bewildered by the strange man's behavior. That was peculiar even for a human.

"Was there a point to that?" Dixon asked.

"He's not long on people skills but he's one of the best hunters you'll ever meet." Dean answered.

"Is he?" Lance asked a chuckle in his voice.

Dean paused in his boot lacing to stare at the hunter, "Yes, he is and he's my friend so don't disrespect him in front of me."

"What about him disrespecting us?" Haskell growled.

Dean just grinned, "If he disrespects you you won't have to ask me what the point was." and rose to leave.

As he stood Dean glanced in the mirror over the dresser, saw his reflection and froze. Each morning Dean looked in the mirror and tried not to think of how his face reflected what was inside. A mangled mess held together with plastic and thread. What ease could be expected of a human being torn apart by the horror that was the underbelly of this world. The taint of shame he always felt in being damaged goods was on full public display. That was what he hid behind the makeup. His shame in having been beaten and ground under the heal of the evil he was supposed to destroy. His many failures. 'Why do you expect so much from yourself?' Maggie Newton asked him, "Who in this world told you anyone could have done better?' Dean thought about her questions a great deal and intellectually he did see that it wasn't all his fault but thinking something and feeling it was not always the same thing. Most of the time he felt like the man in the mirror, torn gutted and put back together, scarred and ugly. Most of the time he put on his face and hid behind the handsome heroic hunter he pretended to be.

What did those five standing silently watching him see when they looked at his face? His shameful failures? They hadn't gasped and looked away, they didn't even look repulsed. He was wide open to a hundred jabs from Emeline yet she said nothing about what she saw. And he had no intention of asking her what she saw. Slowly Dean turned to them not a tell tail sign of emotion on his face. Castiel was waiting outside and normally he would wait patiently but Dean had little doubt the Angel had come about these people. There was no point in putting it off, he had to go outside, exposed. Dean steeled himself, pasted a casual expression on his face and marched out the door.

"Weird and weirder?" Dean heard Lance mutter.

"I can always sense something even from the most disciplined individual but this Cass was a blank page." Dixon said concern apparent in his voice.

"No I didn't like that either." Haskell agreed, "And the look on Winchester's face when he looked in the mirror you'd think he never saw himself before."

"As you well know he doesn't go in public with his scares on display." Dixon responded, "I imagine it would attract too much attention."

"What does the mighty hunter do, wear makeup?" Emeline asked with a mean snicker.

"What is your problem with him." Dixon snapped, "I've never seen you so belligerent with anyone."

"He has the nerve to call us armatures after ruining our hunt." Emiline snarled, "We just saved his life and he still prances around with a superior air. I've never seen anyone so arrogant and rude."

"He thinks we ruined his hunt." Dixon countered, "And he did acknowledge our having saved him but he's also quite aware that we hadn't the slightest notion of how to do it."

"You don't find him at all arrogant?" Lena asked.

Dean would have listened to more but Castiel 'flew' over, grabbed him by the arm and took him to the ruins of a fortress in the mountains.

"Cass, what the hell?" Dean demanded.

"This conversation must be private." Castiel explained.

"Don't you think this is a little extreme?" Dean growled.

"No." Castiel replied.

Dean was about to respond when he recognised the location. High walls crumbling to the ground buildings virtually leveled but a temple with an iron sun, moon and cross, in perfect condition.

"I know this place." Dean started then asked, "Are we actually here or am I unconscious somewhere?"

"We are in Macedonia in the fortress of the Quradu." Castiel answered.

"Cool." Dean grinned, looking around, "You know it's identical to the image you put in my head."

"Of course." Castiel responded, puzzled by the statement, "Why wouldn't it be?"

Dean pushed open the doors of the great stone building to find something he would have expected to see in a Gothic horror movie. Visible wooden beams, stone walls covered with tapestries, tall, narrow, glassless, windows and four enormous fireplaces. The hall was furnished with long heavy wooden tables and chairs lacking any aesthetic value. They were placed three wide and four deep and at the other end of the hall was a simple podium with a enormous book on a simple stand. The only decoration other than the tapestries was the iron sun, moon and cross behind the podium.

Dean had been in many churches over the years, some modest with simple furnishing and filled with light, some dark and heavily adorned with statues, painting, and icons but none inspired thought or feeling. They were just buildings. The moment he walked into the temple the air felt thick and a weight seemed to settle on his chest while the nerves in his skin began to tingle, or was it more of a hum. Dean couldn't identify the sensation. It was disquieting and just a little scary.

"Why did you bring me here, Cass?" Dean asked his voice dutifully low.

"It seemed appropriate." Castiel answered after a brief glance around the rebuilt temple.

"For what?" Dean lightly whined.

"Meeting the Nasiru is fortuitous." Castiel got right to the point, "They would make effective allies."

"Nasiru, guardian." Dean translated the word, "Guardians of what?"

"Humanity."

"I thought that was the Quradu." Dean said growing a little annoyed by the surprises he kept stumbling over every time he thought he had the whole story.

"They came before the Quradu." Castiel gave him another short information challenged answer.

"And who created them, Michael?" Dean probed for more.

"They evolved."

"An organization evolved?" Dean asked incredulously.

"The race evolved." Castiel corrected, "Forming them into a society was the work of many Angels and prophets. Forming an alliance with them would be to our advantage if they can be trained to hunt demons."

"I don't get that. How can they be hunters if they don't even know about demons and spirits." Dean complained.

"The Nasiru live in isolation and as such lack a clear understanding of your society and people making it difficult for them to hunt anything of human origin. As demons grew in number and began to fight their way out of Hell, Gabriel was instructed to form another organization to combat this growing threat to humanity. There were many progeny of a breeding program who showed great promise but where not selected to continue the line. It was decided to mold them into worriers who would not have difficulties similar to the Masiru." Castiel explained in brief, "Dixon's desire to learn is sincere. Cultivating his friendship would be wise. They could be useful allies in a battle with demons."

"Having him owe me one could be even better." Dean took it one step further, "How many of these Guardians are there?"

"In this country five Illutu." Castiel answered beginning to wonder if Dean understand what he had been trying to say.

"And Dixon is one of their leaders?"

"A most powerful one." Or perhaps Dean did.

'If they could be trained', Dean didn't want this responsibility. He had fallen into a pace that he was comfortable with. He traveled wherever he wanted, stopped when he chose and left when it suited him without having to explain himself to anyone. Most of all he had no one to worry about. With the beginning of the end a full year away Dean was, for the first time in his life, truly free. He wanted to revel in it for as long as it lasted and could see no reason to give it up, but one. Dean nodded making his decision.

"I got an idea." he said and turned away from the iron icon he'd been staring at. "Let's see if we can scratch each others backs." .

Castiel could not comprehend any benefit there would be in scratching Dixon's back or what possible advantage such a simple skill would have when hunting evil ? As humans went Dean was stranger than most.

"What purpose would this back scratching serve?" Castiel asked.

Dean stared at Castile long and hard just to make sure it wasn't a joke before answering, "I'll make a deal with him that gets us both what we want."

"Isn't that what I recommended?" Cass asked but Dean was distracted.

In many respects it was just another temple yet it stirred something in him that was both frightening and exhilarating. Such feelings always made Dean suspicious but the iron surrounding the building protected it from dark forces. If not evil what was making his heart pound and his nerves tingle.

"Cass I think …" Dean began.

A gust of wind caressed Dean's cheek silencing him. He looked in the direction the puff seemed to go to see a dove gracefully soar about the ceiling and gently land on the iron icon. For a moment he couldn't move. He held his breath his eyes fixed on the snowy white bird his heart pounding in his ears. Why was this damned bird following him around appearing at the strangest times playing with his head. This just wasn't right! Dean's anger overcame his fixation and he stomped up to the podium never taking his eyes off the bird.

"Gabriel is that you screwing with my head." He roared at the dove, "Enough with the bullshit. Come down here and talk to me?"

"What the hell are you yelling at me about." Gabriel appeared before him his face scowling his eyes dark and threatening.

"That!" Dean pointed at the dove, "What are you trying to prove?"

Gabriel turned his snarling face to look at the icon and it went momentarily blank, 'Dad?' Dean heard him murmur. A strange mix of pleading and sorrow filled the Archangel's face that was heartbreaking. The bird's head tilted one way then the other as it seemed to take in the three individuals in the room. Castiel had hurried to Dean's side and was staring at the snow white bird with a confused longing in his eyes and his jaw half open. The dove lifted off the icon, made one gracious pass then unceremoniously flew out a window leaving Gabriel momentarily transfixed.

'Dad' Dean thought, that had ramifications he didn't like. All his life he had needed help, he even prayed and begged for help and finely journeyed through heaven looking for him and nadda. Back off was all he got. Now the Almighty is following him? It was too creepy.

"What happened?" Gabriel came to life with a bang.

"What?" Dean almost jumped.

"What happened here, why did he come?" Gabriel demanded grabbing Dean by the shirt and lifting him a foot off the floor.

Castiel jumped in the middle grabbing Gabriel's shirt his face stony determination. Gabriel's face was a mask of rage and in his eyes was a desperation that Dean would have hid from if he could have. Dean didn't know what Gabriel saw in Castiel's face but it made him pause.

"He is chosen." Castiel growled with a power Dean had never heard before.

"He is chosen?" Gabriel roar making the very air vibrated.

Something burst inside the Archangel the power of it radiating threw his arms into Dean. He could feel it coming. With a agonized animalistic roar that filled the temple Gabriel imperceptibly flexed his muscles throwing Dean so hard he would have crashed through the wall if his 'guardian Angel' hadn't provided a cushion.

As the roar faded Gabriel turned cold eyes on Dean and demanded in a quiet yet equally threatening voice, "Why would he appear to you? What makes an insignificant worthless, worm like you worthy?"

Dean would not have even reacted if he'd been in control. Dean was neither stupid nor suicidal but it came over him so suddenly and so powerfully he was overcome in a heartbeat. Beneath the self-loathing that fuelled his conviction that he was worthless lay an ocean of anger that could no longer be contained.

Dean's voice reverberated through the temple as he roared back, "You don't even know what worthy means!"

In the blink of an eye Gabriel was in front of Dean who was to incised to care but just as quickly Castiel was there too and in a flash of light Gabriel was flying across the room. Castiel looked down at his hands then at Dean his face a mask of utter confusion. He had no idea how he did it. No Angel could stand before an Archangel and live if his big brother wanted him dead. That was a given. Castiel was stymied just to be alive.

The three men stood in silence, one confused, one enraged, and one both, trying to figure out what had happened when a gust of wind again caressed Dean's cheek and his anger began to dissipate.

"He's still here." Dean shouted, "He was when we got here."

Gabriel was instantly beside Dean looking around the temple as if he expected his father to appear.

"Where." He demanded, "How do you know he's here?"

"I felt something the minute I walked in here." Dean answered, "He was waiting."

"For you?" Gabriel glared.

"How the hell should I know? I don't even like the guy." Dean snapped, "You keep rebuilding this place, maybe he was waiting for you."

"Why do you come here?" asked Castiel, the only calm voice in the temple.

"This is my sanctuary. It's the only place I find peace." Gabriel answered looking around his expression more longing that peaceful.

"I can understand that." Dean said a smile playing at his lips.

"Don't think for a second you understand anything about me." Gabriel snapped his manner the angry Angel once again.

Dean's eyes narrowed and the anger that had settled in the pit of his belly simmered again, "Home is where ever you live whether it's a house, a car, or the last thing you really put your heart into. That's where you find peace."

"Do you think God finds peace here also." Castiel asked Dean not Gabriel.

Dean looked at Castiel a twisted smirk on his face, "That was a joke right?"

After a moment Castil answered, "No."

"He doesn't know or care what Dad feels." Gabriel said his face dancing as he spoke. He stretched out on one of the tables and stared at the high vaulted ceilings, "We've all been waiting for you, looking for thousands of years. What brought you here, now, to him?"

"To us." Castiel corrected, "He waited for you to appear before leaving. He appeared to the three of us."

Gabriel sat bolt upright his melancholy evaporating at record speed and locked eyes with Castiel, "But why?"

"Who cares." Dean wailed growing more uneasy.

"I do." Gabriel snapped.

"Fine, you deal with it. I have a motel room of people who won't wait forever."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and grinned, "Now they will."

Dean was afraid to ask Gabriel what he did to them and as he couldn't do anything about anyway, he didn't.

"Great, we could be here forever trying to figure out what God's up to." Dean groaned.

"Why did you come here?" Gabriel asked Castiel.

"To discuss an alliance between Dean and the Masiru." Castiel answered, "Considering he has mastered the skills and abilities of an accomplished Quradu this seemed an appropriate place for such a discussion."

"That's it?" Gabriel complained.

"That's it." Castiel answered.

Gabriel flopped back on the table, his arms stretched out in a bizarre representation of a cross and groaned. Determined to leave in less than a decade, Dean began running ideas through his head about what this place and this moment could mean. Anything and everything however far fetched and ridiculous he considered and finely came back to a simple question.

"Gabriel, why to you keep rebuilding this place?" He asked.

"None of your business." Gabriel growled.

"Maybe it's the whole point." Dean countered as he strolled up to the table, resting on his elbows on it while looking down at the Angel of death.

After a moments pause in which he stared into Deans eyes he answered, "This was the last great thing I did that wasn't corrupted by power." Gabriel sighed, rose and began to wonder around the temple looking at the tapestries.

Hoping to gleam some understanding of him, Dean followed Gabriel from wall to wall trying to see what held the Angel's attention. Being all to familiar with the pains of having an absentee father Dean sympathised though he doubted he could help. Gabriel would not be open to commiseration any more than he was but Dean did love betting on a long-shot. Each tapestry depicted an event or series of events pertinent to the evolution of the Quradu and or their faith. Gabriel pointed to a man with flowing dark hair down his back, holding a fiery sword pointed to the sky saying, this was his first vessel.

"They worked and trained and became worriers of God and that was enough for them." Gabriel said a wistful smile on his face, "They would gather here every night to celebrate with food and songs. They sat here while someone took a turn reading from the Book, then the trainees would cover the tables with food and wine and it was a party. The Quradu were honoured to be chosen and rejoiced in their faith. They never lost sight of who they were, what they were doing or why. Power and fear destroyed my creation, but somehow I can still feel some of what they had here."

"They never lost sight of who they were, what they were doing or why." Dean repeated, "Think about that Gabriel. Maybe you'll figure it out."

Gabriel's hostility toward Dean faded away as he did just that. Dean watched as emotions flickered across the wondrously animated face. Thoughtful, disturbed, puzzled and so much more came went then returned from time to time. One may not know exactly what he was thinking but there was no mistaking what he was feeling if you knew how to look. As Gabriel puzzled and pondered he snapped his fingers and the fascinating image was gone from Dean's view.

* * *

Dean and Castiel found themselves back in the parking lot of the comfortable motel. Dean heaved a big sigh of relief then flinched. He really, really didn't want to do this but how could he pass up an opportunity to get what he wanted most. He braced himself and jumped into the lions den in true Winchester 'damn the torpedoes' style.

Dean barged in with his usual bluster and got right to the point, "You want me to take you on?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dixon asked startled.

"Train you? Teach you the job." Dean answered.

"We already know the job. You insignificant ….." Emeline snapped.

"There's a damned big piece of the job you're missing if you never did a salt and burn or an exorcism." Dean interrupted loudly.

"Ki simtu lequ annu!" Dixon lost his patience with his former flame.

'_You will receive disciplined.' _

"Aiasi hasanu nasi kubadu." Emiline cried indignantly

'_I am defending our honour.'_

"Sulu ki kassudu kabattu issenis gallu ula ki edu ammar abutu iddama?" Dixon demanded and when Emiline only stared in return he added, " Kiam, lia nikkassu awil le uttu lamadu nasi ki epesu akki la hassu."

"_Have you hunted spirits and demons? Were you aware that it was necessary? Then there is something he can teach us and you have behaved like a fool."_

Emeline's chin quivered ever so slightly in the face of such admonishment but she had no retort. None that she dared in public. She ventured a glance at her team mates hoping at least one would speak up for her but they seemed duly cowed, not only by their leader's words but the hard set of his eyes. When Dean left the room Dixon told them he would do whatever it took to learn what the hunter could teach him . 'We are doing only half a job and that can not stand.' he told them. How did they argue with that.

"Are you interested or not?" Dean broke the painful silence that followed.

"If it requires on the job training then that is what I must do." Dixon declared, "What exactly does that entail?"

"That will be a long conversation but if I'm going to assume responsibility for you, I think it's only fair for you do something for me." Dean wound up for the pitch.

"I knew it." Lena sighed.

"In this business, being responsible for another life is asking a lot." Dean said with a glare, "If I'm going to take that on I should get something out of it."

"Akanna abutu akaku." muttered Haskell who was inclined to think as Emeline.

'_Here it comes'_

Dean ignored them, walked over to his duffle bag and pulled out his sketch pad from the bottom of the bag. He flipped through it and finding what he was looking for ripped it from the book. He stood at the table and with a nod called Dixon over. On the page he was writing, Five foot six, slim, blond hair, brown eyes, low rise jeans, rust coloured leather jacket. Then handed him the page.

"Send this out to all your people." He instructed, "They're to find her then keep her under surveillance from a distance, and I do mean, distance. Just keep an eye on her and tell me were she is."

"Who is she?" Dixon asked.

"One of the most dangerous demons on earth right now."

Dixon handed it to his team saying, "Make copies, circulate it. This has just become a priority."

"It's just a young girl." Haskell chuckled.

"Don't ever make that mistake again." Dean warned, "That kind of thinking gets you killed. What you're looking at is a meat suite but what's inside could throw you across a room with a single thought and would slit your throat just for the hell of it."

"A meat, what?" Dixon asked for them.

"That's a college girl from Massachusetts possessed by a very dangerous and vindictive demon." Dean explained surprised that they couldn't figure even that much out, "Don't get too close to her. Demons read minds. You want a good look at her face use binoculars. What you saw Herbert do here, is nothing compared to what a demon is capable of. Make sure your people understand that."

"It will be made very clear." Dixon promised then turned to his team, "Won't it?"

"What are you afraid of?" Lance asked.

"Say what?" Dean took his words as a challenge.

"If she reads our minds what would happen?" He made himself clear.

"You mean after she killed you? She'd know I was on to her." Dean answered adopting his instructor persona, "She could do a lot of things starting with killing her host and finding a new one. We do like to try to save the host. Second she'll either go to ground or come after me. If she's in another meat suit I won't recognize her till it's to late. Or worse, she'd go after all my friends and family just to torture me or force me into something, who the hell knows."

"Is this common of demons?" Lance asked.

"Some like to torture some are into pure slaughter," Dean answered with a casual shrug, "This one's a soldier. At her pay grade she doesn't have a lot of power but she'd connected."

"Pay … grade?" Haskell asked.

"Demons 101, get comfortable." Dean sat on the counter calling everyone to sit at the table, "Someone order pizza, meat lovers, large and whatever you want. Now where to I start" He muttered then paused, "Okay, the only physical way to identify a demon just by looking at them is their eyes. They flinch at the name of God said in Latin. Christo. Their eyes will change from the hosts to their own. Demon's with black eyes, that's solid black, are your basic soldiers. They're at the very bottom, but even these guys are more powerful than anything you've ever come across. Ones with red eyes are …."

Dean slipped into the same instructional persona he used with Sam's friends and proceeded to give the Barbaru a general overview of demons and spirits but withheld information about devil's traps or exorcisms for fear they would rush out and try to trap one alone. He could see a measure of respect grow in their eyes as his lesson continued, a very small measure, but Emeline would not give up her animosity. Dean didn't care what she thought of him except that the waves of hate were so powerful that it was making him physically uncomfortable and was ruining his dinner. It was a sad day when Dean couldn't enjoy food but he ate with his usual relish and paid her little attention refusing to let her know she had any affect on him.

"In the immortal words of Sean Connery, there endith the lesson." Dean finished.

"That's all you have to teach us?" Emeline snorted, "How do you destroy them?"

"This was an information seminar not a 'how to' lesson and that barely scratches the surface. The rest is on the job training." Dean addressed Dixon, "Now you think about it. You'd be the junior partner here, having to take orders from me and I don't think you're too damned used to that.

"In a couple of weeks I'm heading back to Stanford to spend Christmas with my brother. If you're still interested call me and I'll come and pick you up after Christmas."

"Pick me up?" Dixon asked.

"You know my black beauty out in the parking lot?" Dean pointed to the window, "That's how we'll travel, I live out of the trunk."

"Out of the trunk." Dixon sighed, not a lot of room for his wardrobe.

"There will be long hours on the road, sleeping in the car and washing up in the bathroom of diners, while we're racing from one end of the country to another." Dean warned him, "I've been doing this most of my life but you look like a penthouse suite kind of guy."

Dean watched Dixon as he stared out the window at the Impala. He was thinking about it and from the expression on his face it wasn't he had his reservations but the hesitation and displeasure was quickly replaced by resolve. He turned from his solemn thoughts and offered Dean a friendly smile.

"Thank you for the buffer. I will need a little time to make arrangements before leaving Scranton." Dixon said extending his hand, "I can not tell you how important this is to us. We are in your debt."

"Find Meg and we'll be even." Dean replied taking his hand and held on, "A private word?"

"Of course." Dixon didn't hesitate, nodded his dismissal of the team and waited till the door was closed before turning back to Dean, "Yes?"

Dean smirked and said, "Tell your dogs to move on."

"My dogs?" Dixon asked.

"Your A team staking out the door." Dean answered, "A private word means just us."

Dixon grinned not the least embarrassed about being caught in the act. He walked over to the window rapped on it and waved them off.

"Better?" he asked taking a seat.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and stared waiting. Dixon looked puzzled but only for a moment then opened the door and glared at the team gathered a few feet away a low growl coming from his throat. Satisfied they were on their way he returned to the table.

"I apologize for them." Dixon offered, "They are not particularly trusting."

"What's your excuse?" Dean asked.

"Excuse?"

"You guys have been dogging me since Allegheny." Dean pointed out, "I was damned nervous when your people showed up at Stanford and then at Vegas? I would have been damned hostile if you put another stake out on Sam."

"No my interest is in hunting not college students. Los Vegas was purely coincidental. I was was for a conference, I swear." Dixon quickly defended himself, "And I was informed you were here by a Automobile dealer who called to ask if I wanted to make an offer on your Impala?"

"And why did he do that?" Dean asked very sceptical.

"I sent out a general email expressing my interest in your vehicle." Dixon confessed.

"And why?" Dean asked trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Your brother mentioned demons." Dixon began, "I belong to a society who has hunted for thousands of years but we never ….." Dixon went on to explain the diminishing business issue as well as his concern over their lack of knowledge, "It is our mission in life to hunt evil and it is very distressing to consider we have a deficiency."

"Your deficiency is worse than you know, if you think you're running out of business." Dean said with a sad shake of his head, "I can usually find three or four possibilities when I go looking for a job. Dude you need help."

"Mr. Winchester, I have become painfully aware that we have short comings however we are not without skills and talent. I would appreciate it if you would reserve judgment till you've seen me in action. Dixon snapped letting go of his impeccable manners.

Dean was relieved to see a little fire in the Englishman. Even when snapping at the red head Dixon was in perfect control and that unnerved Dean. Although self-discipline was important in a hunter it would be impossible to live with twenty-four seven. Trying to figure out what he was thinking would be like a never ending poker game. Exhausting.

"I wouldn't even attempt this if I didn't believe that." Dean assured him, "Dude, if we're going to be living in each other's pockets I can't be guessing what you're thinking. Those perfect British, manners of yours can't get in the way of input. If something's getting on your nerves tell me. I may not give a shit, but it's important that we both know where we stand at all times.

"Now I'm going to list some rules we're going to have to live with and you decide if you can do that. First and most important, having your "people" follow us is definitely out and watching my brother will result in me hunting you not demons. That's up front and none negotiable."

"Understood." Dixon agreed without hesitation.

"Maybe you can tell me why you didn't just come out and talk to me." Dean continued, "We hunters aren't the most trusting types but this covert shit was a little much."

"We are a secret society. We don't discus hunting with anyone outside our organization." Dixon freely admitted, "What I'm doing here is braking several of our most sacred laws."

"That sucks." said Dean, "Just how much shit could you be in?"

"Oh the council meeting will be a bloody row and could cost me dear but I know when and how to stand." Dixon grinned sadly.

"Can you say that in English?" Dean asked after a moments ponder.

"I will have a terrible fight with the council and it could cost me friends and create hard feelings but I will not be swayed." Dixon asked more than answered.

"Got yah, okay, assuming they don't string you up, I'll lay down a little more law here." Dean resumed.

Dean noticed the lack of reaction to the lynching comment, no snicker, not even a grin, indicating that 'bloody row' may have been an understatement. The part of Dean that treasured his, autonomy, privacy and freedom hoped it was a battle Dixon would loose but his desire to free his father and gain more allies to save his brother and the world over ruled his personal needs.

"There's a difference between privacy and secrets. You're politics is your business, your personal life yours, your problems none of mine. The second me, my family or the hunt comes into the equation you tell me no matter what it is."

"Fair enough." Dixon agreed.

"You're here to learn from me but you have experience and I know I don't know everything so tell me what you know." Dean continued, "On the other hand in the heat of battle my word is law."

Dixon took a moment to give do consideration to such a condition but finely responded, "Accepted."

Seeing the hesitation in Dixon was reassuring. No one accustomed to that kind of absolute authority could easily hand over the mantel of command. If he'd answered quickly Dean would have known that Dixon was not taking him seriously or his word was worthless and Dean would not be able to trust him. There were so many reasons Dean knew he shouldn't be doing this, and having to give orders to someone unaccustomed to taking them was high on the list. There was a trust factor needed and he was sure this Guardian was no more trusting than he was. But Castiel said Dixon was sincere and having access to a network of hunters could only help if and when the shit hit the fan.

* * *

Dean didn't seem to have a lot to say during his monthly phone calls but Sam didn't mind them. Dean told what he thought were funny stories about hunting or experiences in bars and such things but most of them involved violence of some kind or frighteningly close calls or sex. The great advantage to phone calls was Sam could cringe without Dean seeing his face. Unfortunately lying to Dean was not yet an option. At first Sam thought Dean was just guessing when he didn't believe there was no fighting in the house but Dean proved almost clairvoyant in his assessment of the situation.

"Oh yah, Brady's not the least pissed that Jessica's cooled it with him?" Dean asked.

"How did you?" Sam stammered.

But Dean didn't KNOW he just knew. He was annoying that way. Who likes a know it all big brother. One with little decent advice to give. He didn't know if pushing Jessica to Brady would save her, not that Sam had any idea of how to do that. Jessica seemed immune to his manipulations of late. She just smiled knowingly at him when he said he wasn't interested in perusing any romantic involvements till his troubles where over. Could she be planning to wait for him? 'It could already be too late.' Dean had said but maybe it wasn't. Maybe he would be able to deal with the pending disaster then pick up right were he left off. Sam lived on that hope. It kept him going to classes, studying at the library and joining everyone at the monthly round table discussions they had to solve any conflicts and reassign duties.

The call Sam didn't expect was the announcement that Dean was coming for Christmas. That was an awkward conversation. Sam stammered in surprise 'Since when do you celebrate Christmas'. It wasn't pleasant hearing Dean remind him of the numerous times he had tried to give Sam a Christmas when they were boys. It created a twinge of guilt over his reluctance to cancel his Christmas with Laura and Billy. Billy had been so pleased to have a friend with him when Laura introduced him to her family. By the time Dean drive away Sam was never more happy to miss out on something, even a family Christmas with a close friend.

Dean was smiling ear to ear when he arrived a small package in hand. Sam was afraid of that. More gifts from Dean. It was embarrassing to be showered with so much and he didn't like the feeling of being in debt even if he was working for it. But Dean seemed to be having the time of his life and Sam would not deny him that. Dean dropped his gift under the tree in the living room and promptly panicked. He hadn't been expecting presents from Sam's roommates. Dean dragged Sam out to buy gifts for them. Sam found Christmas shopping with Dean a strange and stressful experience. 'Are you sure this is alright?' Dean carried on and on over every purchase. Steeling things for his little brother must have been so much easier for Dean since he did it so frequently throughout Sam's childhood.

At the house Dean maintained his happy smile but didn't relax until everyone left for their holidays. Once alone Dean dropped to a couch with a beer and asked Sam what he'd been up to of late. It was strangely comfortable spending the evening just talking to Dean and even fun shopping for Christmas dinner the next day. Having never cooked a turkey before Dean had researched it on the internet. He had Sam sit in the kitchen with him on Christmas day and read the instructions to him as he washed, stuffed and stuck the bird inside a paper bag to cook for four hours. A paper bag Sam had mused? 'That's what it says Sammy and since I don't really know what I'm doing I'll follow the instructions.' Apple crisp rather than apple or pumpkin pie was alright with Sam and it was always good. In point of fact it was a great Christmas dinner, the best Sam had ever had. Dean presented Sam with two Christmas presents, an ipod and ipod jack for his car and a card, (something Sam was surprised Dean would bother with), In it he found a membership to a prestigious law library. He would not only have research material not on the campus, open to him but he could have it emailed to him or hard copy derived at his request. Nothing could have been more perfect. Sam began to worry about his gift till he saw Dean's face light up when he unwrapped it. The only thing Sam knew Dean cared about besides hunting and his Impala was music. Most of Dean's tapes had been their father's and Sam figured they didn't have much life left in them. Though the tapes snapping or stretching would be a blessing for Sam it would be devastating for Dean. Having all his favourites put on cassette tapes had been an ordeal. 'No my brother won't put a CD player in his car, I need tapes.' Trying to explain Dean was difficult at best but the look on his brothers face when he opened the case and found Lead Zeppelin, ACDC, Black Sabbath, etcetera etcetera, made it all worth while. If only the night had ended on such a high note.

Sam thought Dean was crazy to take a strange cult person for a partner, especially one who had tried putting a tale on them. It all sounded far to shady. It was difficult enough knowing Dean was out there alone with no one watching his back. To have the head of a strange secret organization Dean had known so briefly traveling with him was going to turn Sam grey before his time. Sam hadn't intended to use the fatal phrase but he was so worried.

"You can't know that!" Sam barked, "You can't trust hunters Dean, their dangerous."

"How the hell would you know?" Dean demanded at a roar, "I know you have no faith in me and even less respect for my intelligence but how the hell do you know what I can and can't know? Are you physic or is it just you're so much smarter than me?"

"I never said I was smarter than you." Sam snarled fed up with Dean's explosive temper.

"You've told me in a hundred different ways, Sammy boy." Dean snarled back and stomped out of the room in a cloud of hostility.

Sam resisted the urge to follow Dean and argue. He thought it better if he calmed down and formulated a few arguments to support his case. He waited a few minutes till was calm and hoped Dean would be a little more mellow and easier to handle. He hadn't expected to find his brother sitting on the back stairs a bottle of whisky in hand, staring at the stars.

"Have a seat." He said holding up a glass for Sam to take.

"I'd rather stand." Sam snapped.

Dean turned angry eyes on Sam and snarled, "Sit down and shut up before I loose it again."

"I have no intention of pandering to your ….." Sam began.

Dean leapt to his feet and screamed in Sam's face, "This isn't a God damned debate now sit down and shut up."

Sam had no intention of letting his brother push him around, he was a man now strong and independent. He thought Dean had recognized that fact at long last but it seemed Sam was a man in Dean's eyes only when it suited him. But he felt all determination slipped away when Dean grabbed him by the shirt, lifted him two feet off the ground and slammed him into the wall.

"For once in your life just shut up and listen to me instead of working so fucking hard to prove me wrong just because you always have to be right." Dean screamed in Sam's face shook him once then dropped him.

Dean's face was contorted with a rage Sam had never seen before. For the first time in his life he wondered if Dean could actually hurt him. The thought lasted only a few seconds and was gone the moment Dean dropped him but it had come and Sam didn't like that. Dean was his security, his safety net. Dean was the one that always made Sam feel safe no matter where they were or what they were doing. Just knowing Dean was out there somewhere maintained that sense of safety for him and Sam didn't want to loose it. He dropped to the step where Dean had been sitting and took the drink.

As Dean sat beside him Sam could feel what little heat there was in the cool evening dissipate creating an even greater chill. Dean took a long swallow from the bottle of whisky and poured Sam another drink. Sam began to say he didn't want it but thought better of it. He sat in angry silence waiting for this 'event' to end.

"Are you listening or sitting there totally self absorbed, waiting to escape?" Dean asked.

Sam growled, "Listening."

"When are you going to figure out you can't lie to me?" Dean growled back.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded.

After a moments silence Dean answered, "Dad wasn't the only one cursed."

Sam only glared at him and snarled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Cursed as in someone put a curse on me." Dean answered after another long silence.

Sam could feel the anger in him start to fade. It was a discernable sensation he didn't like. He wanted to stay angry with Dean and retaliate for his cutting remarks. As shocking and horrible as Dean's confession was it had nothing to do with Sam's supposed distain for his brother. But it was horrible and shocking and Sam couldn't ignore it.

"Do you mean a Lyssa is making you angry?" Sam asked.

"No a curse." Dean replied and yet again recited Lucifer's parting gift changing two words.

"_**The aberrations and defects, impurities and corruption of your body and spirit shall arise, awakening the beast that is your true nature. In this befouled state you will be trapped in a war you can never win till Lucifer walks this earth."**_

"What that means is everything in me, old wounds, old fights, everything I've been holding in all my life is coming out and I can't stop it. Some little shit thing happens and suddenly it isn't just that it's everything. Understand."

"No." Sam admitted, "Every what? Help me here Dean."

A knot formed in Sam's belly twisting and turning. He didn't have to fully understand the curse to know it would be a millstone around Dean's neck, a heavy painful one. and one he would have to live with it for the rest of his life. This just wasn't fair.

"Give me an example." Sam asked.

"An example? How about telling me 'you can't know that'. How the hell would you know? How can you, a thousand miles away, better understand what I went through and what it means?" Dean snarled, "And Sam do you expect me to forget I'm a hunter when your telling me how dangerous and untrustworthy we are or do you think it's your God given right to degrade me to my face ? " Dean suddenly stopped, closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and the twitch at his jaw slowed and stopped. "That pissed me off but it isn't just that. All this rage surges in me over every time you put down hunters and hunting and every time you tell me what I know or don't know and insist you know better, no matter what we're talking about and dude there's too many times to count. Alone I can shrug it off but when you add up every time it's a lot of pissed off coming at me at once. It's hitting me like a sledge hammer and sometimes I can't stop. I'm sorry."

"Every time and there's too many to count." Sam muttered after a long silence.

Suddenly Dean wished he'd lied, told him it was some sort of overreaction do to completely unrelated events. He had no illusions about changing their entire relationship. It took years of hard living and making mistakes for Sam to come down from his ivory tower which was pretty good considering their dad never did get over himself. As long as Sam was in his corner when it counted, that was all that mattered. But then, he wasn't when it mattered most for Sam but was this the way to change that?

"Sammy you missed the point." Dean sighed, "It's about overreacting. I get mildly pissed when you do that. It's not something I would clock you over or trade you in for. It's just that when it all hits me at once I can't control it.

"No, I understand that part." Sam argued, "I also understand that you've been pissed with me for criticising hunting or hunters but you know I don't lump you in that group Dean."

"You have to Sammy cause that's what I am." Dean said without anger, paying no heed to the low simmer in his belly, "I don't understand how you can just ignore that fact. Deep down I don't think you do, not really. You're embarrassed by me. I saw that with your friends. But the fact is I'm a better man than some hunters and there's a couple out there that are better men than me. I know for a fact that there are a few who should be behind bars. But how is that different than any other job? Some doctors are great some are good and some deserve jail time not malpractice law suits. Or lawyers who defend drug … no wait are there any good lawyers?"

The question came right out of the blue. Dean had never thought of hunting in terms of any other profession. Hunters lived under the radar and beyond the law and that separated them from everybody else with the possible exception of criminals. Dean knew that in many respects he was just that. The fact was it didn't bother him in the least but he knew it bothered Sam. Or it did at this point in his life. Dean held his breath.

Years of anger and resentment were hard to push aside at a whim but the summer had been a revelation to Sam. No, in the few months he and Dean hunted he had not learned to like it. It was every bit as violent, ugly and terrifying as it always had been. Sam could not look at the darkness in the world and walk away from it the way Dean did. It left a mark on him, a scar that ached, even bleed at times and haunted his dreams. The end of the credit card scams had made a large dent in the criminal factor but the lying, con-games and dodging of police had not changed. Even without the horrors darkening his soul being a criminal would never sit well with him. But knowing that it would end for him, knowing he was not expected to carry on the family business had allowd Sam to look at Dean in a new light and there was indeed something almost noble about his big brother. But he couldn't come right out and say that. He was after all a Winchester and a little brother.

"I guess in that respect hunting is the same." Sam admitted, "And in answer to the other question yes there are good lawyers and don't you forget it."

"So you admit, not all hunters bad." Dean pushed for clarification.

"Yes, I'm sorry Dean. I shouldn't have …" Sam tried to apologize.

"Hay dude, the whole point of telling you about this was to let you know I'm not really as pissed as I seem." Dean interrupted feeling awkward. Ripping Sam a knew one so wasn't what he wanted, "Think about it, how many times have I ragged on you. If you added up all those times wouldn't you go nuclear?"

"Yah." Sam grinned, "I'd probably leave a major crater."

"The one thing I ask Sammy is that you trust me." As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't leave well enough alone, "Don't tell me what I can or can't know, okay?"

"Dean I'm scared." Sam took a lesson from Dean and put honesty ahead of fear induced anger, "Some guy from a secret organization, that's just so shady. How can you trust him with your back."

Dean felt the anger brewing again, was annoyed with himself for being so unfair, and forced it down, "Sammy all hunters are a secret society. These guys are a little more organized than most." Dean watched Sam's face waiting for a sign of acceptance and understanding but it didn't come. Sam huffed and donned his bitch face letting Dean know he was not satisfied and was prepared to press till Dean capitulated. Dean's anger burned hot and he roared, "Tell me what I don't understand! Give me your brilliant insight that I'm to stupid to see! What do you know that I don't?"

"It's risky!" Sam roared, "You're trusting a virtual stranger!"

"You think I don't know that?" Dean fired back, frustration and disappointment in himself as well as Sam mixing with the rage creating the foulest emotion he'd ever felt, "How big an idiot would I have to be to not know that!"

Son of a bitch Dean silently screamed at himself. It pissed him off that Sam didn't trust his judgement but not this much. Not roar in the guy's face, pissed. Trust would come in time he knew and yelling at Sam when his brother is afraid for him was not only pointless but unjustifiable. Dean jumped to him feet bottle in hand and stomped to the back fence, took a long swallow then let out a roar of rage and frustration. Feeling some of the tension in him ease he looked back to see Sam standing ridged staring at him.

"I'm to far gone to talk, Sammy. Fuck I'm ranting and raving. I have to run off some of this rage before I can have a rational conversation about anything." Dean said through clenched teeth and ran inside without waiting for a response.

Minutes later Sam heard the front door close and knew Dean was gone. It was safe to breath again. Sam would never have imagined in his wildest dreams seeing his brother so incredibly out of control. He'd seen his belligerent big brother angry, furious even enraged but never out of control. No greater proof of the enormous impact of the curse could have been given. His father a virtual mad man roaming the country somewhere and now his brother a walking time bomb. Sam hated hunting. He took two good shots of Dean's whisky and let the burn worm the ice in his blood. Sam smoothed his ruffled feathers and calmed the storm within. Under the circumstances he would not hold anything against Dean, nor would he accept the situation without doing something, anything to try and help.

He sat alone at the table and pushed the whole cult issue out of his mind in favour of the curse. It was a strange curse. 'All defects, impurities and corruption of body and spirit.' Well at least Dean still looked the same and seemed as strong, well, stronger than before. If the curse brought out any physical abnormalities or defects Dean had covered them up quite nicely. It would seem the greatest harm it caused was mental. Everything was coming up Dean said, it wasn't simply the issue of the moment but a life time of anger so powerful it ripped away Dean's magnificent self control and Sam knew that for his big brother discipline was not optional. This had to be tearing him apart. Sam took out his notebook to research curses. Maybe they couldn't be broken but there had to be something he could do.

Sam tried to begin his search but he couldn't concentrate on what he was doing. On the wall in front of him was the bulletin board and pinned across the top was the credo the five friends had agreed to live by. _"If you don't want some one to do it to you, don't do it to someone else." _All the anger Dean has been swallowing all his life. Dean's fury may have been disproportionate but it was real. It had a source. 'You think I'm that stupid' Dean had said. Sam began to reflect on conversation they had over the past year. Dean had called him intellectually arrogant and Sam was beginning to wonder if there was some truth in that.

By the time Dean returned from his run Sam was in full research mode and barely acknowledged his arrival. Dean tip toed into the kitchen giving Sam a thorough once over to see if he should be prepared to run again, this time to avoid the fight in the first place, but Sam wasn't bouncing his leg and huffing with flaring nostrils so that was a good sign. Sam's eyes flickered up to meet Dean's and a quick smile appeared. A smile not the bitch face. Dean would have cheered if it had been in his nature.

"You okay little brother?" Dean asked.

"Fine and you?" Sam asked, "Got the edge off?"

"Yah, I'm pretty good. Feeling bad about tearing into you." Dean confessed as he poured himself a generous shot.

"Well it wasn't totally undeserved but way over the top, bro." Sam returned.

He smiled at Dean's startled expression. How often did he have one up on his brother these days.

"The thing that bothers me is why take the risk with this guy?" Sam asked careful to sound conversational and prayed.

He didn't want to set his brother off again but he was worried for Dean and he had to settle the matter.

"Sammy he's connected to an organized network of hunters all over this country." Dean answered happy to find not the slightest twinge of anger rising, "In fact he's one of the big shots, one of the board of directors or something like that. "Something's coming Sammy, something apocalyptic, and we'll need all the allies we can get. Right now I've got them looking for Meg."

"Meg? " Sam sighed thinking he should have known.

What else would make Dean so reckless but the prospect of saving their father.

"Just be careful." Sam gave in knowing Dean would do this no matter what he said, "And call me every week so I won't go grey by the spring, okay?"

"I'll try to remember." Dean answered with such an appreciative smile Sam was glad he let go, "What are you doing there."

"Seeing what I can find about curses." Sam answered, "Maybe there is a way of braking it dad never found?"

"I doubt it Sammy but maybe there's a way to control anger?" Dean suggested, "Dad had an amulet that he said helped him."

"Yah, good."

Sam kept up the search for at least an hour after Dean passed out on the couch before packing it in for the night. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling trying to quiet his mind but the nights events and their ramifications wouldn't leave him alone. Sam wondered when his high opinion of his brother began to waver. As a boy he thought Dean was the epitome of cool. Sam had always been a lonely boy constantly leaving friends behind but as long as he had Dean he was never alone and through much of his childhood that had been enough. Dean was more than Sam's care giver, protector and champion. He was Sam's hero. Dean was his larger than life big brother who could do anything and everything he did was heroic, remarkable or just plain cool.

Sam suspected his attitude began to change when, as with all boys at the dawn of adolescence, the phrase 'when I grow up' shifted from fantasy to reality. When Dean first told him that monsters were real being alone took on a whole knew dimension. The dark that had reflected the isolation and loneliness Sam always felt was suddenly filled with terrifying evil waiting to carry him off. Sam never doubted that Dean could and always would stand between him and the monsters but he began to realize that in time he would be expected to hunt as well. This would be his life, isolation, loneliness, pain and injury, drinking himself into a stupor to escape the horrors and ending with the inevitable early, violent death. When Sam objected to this life he expected Dean to champion him but for the first time he didn't. It was important work and they would be heroes.

Sam quickly learned that there was no point in discussing their future with Dean. He was completely committed to the life of the hunter. He wanted to fight evil and be a hero like his dad. Sam thought Dean should stop stealing comic books and live in the real world.

Sam climbed out of bed and sat on the top step to gaze down on his brother sleeping on the living room sofa and wondered absently if and when Dean grew up. Was it hero worship and comic book fantasies that motivated Dean to hunt? Sam reflected on Dean's story about the spirit that was slashing the wrists of a high school class. Dean called saving twenty odd kids a good days work. Was that comic bookish? Thinking it over carefully Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean used the word hero. Sam began to suspect that many of the truths he held so dear were on shaky ground.

"Go to bed Sam." Dean called up the stairs.

That shouldn't have been possible. Sam hardly blinked as he watched his brother sleep and Dean never moved, never opened his eyes, or even turned his head. He would have had to lift his head from his pillow and look up over the armrest to see Sam at the top of the stairs. Not to mention that he had the better part of a bottle of whisky swimming through his blood. How did he do that? Spooky and annoying.

Sam decided he might as well go to bed. There was so much to puzzle over that he wouldn't be able to work it all out in one night. Strange how something as painful and cruel as a curse could open a part of his brother he had never known was there. Uh oh. He wanted to sleep so he would be in good humour and have a pleasant day with Dean but now he was thinking about the curse and that would keep him up till dawn.

Dean stayed for several more days. There was bikini watching, pool playing and more than a few drinks but there were also a few long heart to hearts for which Sam was very grateful. It was clear Dean was more than a little reluctant but Sam turned on the puppy eyes he knew Dean couldn't resist. He knew he should feel guilty for using such underhanded tactics but he didn't. As a younger brother it was his right.

When Sam suggested that working out his issues might lessen his burden of anger Dean shook his head and said doubtful.

"Why?" Sam asked, "If we talk some things out maybe …." Sam's voice fading with uncertainty.

"No Sammy I don't think so." Dean stepped in, Sam was about to interrupt when Dean held up a finger and continue, "I used to be angry about the way you walked out on us not just because you ditched us but because you got to leave and I didn't. Now, I accept the fact that killing is what I do best and hunting is a great way to put that talent to use. I'm good with my life now, I'm happy for you but I still feel angry sometimes that you got to live your dreams and I didn't. There's no talking that out Sammy, you can't fix it."

"You know I always thought you were right where you wanted to be doing exactly what you wanted to do." Sam confessed his ignorance, "It never occurred to me that you weren't completely happy."

"Don't feel bad Sammy." Dean grinned, "I worked hard at convincing everyone of that, especially you and dad."

"Why?" Sam cried dumfounded and perhaps a little angry himself over the confessed deception.

"What could you have done about it?" Dean asked his grin taking on a shadow of sorrow, "Dad would have just called me weak and selfish if I complained and I probably would have made you even more miserable than you all ready were. There was nothing we could do about the way we lived. You tried remember. Screaming and fighting didn't get you anywhere."

One statement Dean made or rather snapped during one of their heart to hearts that stayed in the back of Sam's mind and nagged him from time to time was, "Maybe one day when it finely dons on you that you don't possess all the virtues you think I don't have, you won't be in such a hurry to assume your always right and I'm always wrong." Dean took a moment to calm down but he didn't apologize or take it back. It reminded Sam that there was a source to Dean's anger. It brought him back to Christmas and the question that plagued him. When and why did he stop looking up to his brother? Was it because years of fighting with his father and not receiving the support from Dean that he wanted. Did he start dismissing Dean with the same indifference lack of respect that he did his father. Was that fair? Perhaps not but it was understandable, wasn't it? These thoughts linger with Sam for a long time.

Part of Sam was sorry to see Dean go. Learning about the curse had gone a long way to easing the pain of some of the blows he'd received from Dean of late and helped him avoid new quarrels. But sad though he was to say goodbye Dean was an emotional rollercoaster that Sam had a limited tolerance of. He would be happy to get back to the stability of his college life. Still he lingered in the worm embrace given more easily with every visit and silently renewed his vow to find help for Dean's curse. A brother's love and fidelity was not to be taken lightly and Sam was smart enough to treasure it.

* * *

Dixon watched the Impala come up the long driveway from the living room of his third floor apartments with some anticipation. He never would have believed that he would great the prospect of leaving home with such relief. He suspected he was more comfortable and accepting of humans simply because he interacted with them more often then most Barbaru. His duties as administrator of the Masiru compelled him to attend meetings and social functions while the leaders of the other Illutu delegated such responsibilities to members of their council.

Whatever the reason for the hostility he faced this was the defining moment and he was not pleased. Malcolm would not challenge him, he could see that in his eyes but Elsa's strength and confidence as administrator in his absence would depend greatly on how well Dean handled himself at this meeting and Dixon had his doubts. The hunter was quite arrogant and that would not go over well.

* * *

As I said this isn't my favourite chapter, please let me know if and how you find it lacking.

'Spring has sprung the grass has ris I wonder where the birdies is'. No I don't they're right outside my window singing at five in the morning. I hope this time of rebirth is putting a smile on your faces as it is on mine birdies or not.


	24. Storm Warning

Disclaimer, you know the drill.

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**Storm Warning**

When Dixon arrived at the Illutu he walked into a brouhaha. The arrangement with Dean had been made only a few hours ago yet calls were coming in from every Illutu. How word did travel but then again, Dixon couldn't think of a people who loved good gossip more than the Barbaru. The stories ranged from the human hunter putting a curse on Dixon to Dixon seducing Dean and planning to bring him into the Illutu. Dixon had expected the one extreme but the seduction story was a puzzle until he learned that Dean's picture had been circulated in a bulk emailing.

Dixon had little doubt that within hours of the emails every member of the High Council had their jets fueled and the flight plan submitted. He would have preferred a little more time to prepare and considered putting the meeting off for a few days but the rumours and talk that would grow and spread and could only be harmful to his cause. Instead he demanded a full report from his team and Dr. Tennyson to be submitted by morning and scheduled the meeting to begin with hours of the arrival of the entire High Council.

Dixon had his breakfast sent up from the kitchen, to avoid difficult questions allowing him to thoroughly read the reports in peace. There weren't many surprises in what he read. Lena was rational, scientific, and detailed and as he expected she used the words apparition and entity refusing to touch ghost or spirit. Fortunately her testimony would include Evelyn reviving Dean and his message. Lance and Haskell's reports were detailed accounts of everything they experienced and the actions they took, however Emiline's was out of character. Her reports were as a rule, to the point, unadorned and unemotional. This one was anything but. He called his aid Mak and instructed him to send Emiline up. Dixon would give her the chance to correct her report before sending copies to the council. The discrepancies between her and the team were glaring and would call her competency as well as her integrity into question. Not a desirable situation if she wished to remain a member of the Illutu's first team. He was glad that by the time she arrived he'd finished his breakfast. This conversation would have ruined his appetite and his meal.

The summons alone should have humbled her but Emiline marched into the apartments office an air of defiance about her. She had sense enough to be polite and formal in her greeting and waited for an invitation to be seated but her respectful behaviour did not hide her hostile attitude. It was an awkward interview for both parties, their past relationship making it so. Dixon often thought he should have known better than to become involved with someone of her generation. She claimed she understood the concept of a limited contract and had no expectations beyond it but the mind and the heart are not always in synch. When Dixon exorcised his option not to renew the contract Emiline was as angry as she was heartbroken. A practicable working relationship between them was a long time coming and may well be impossible to maintain. Emiline's tendency to displayed jealousy toward other men and women Dixon had shown an interest in was an ongoing problem he could no longer ignore.

Dixon accepted the revised report from Emiline an hour later then prepared for the council. His lack of success with Lena taught him a very important lesson. He would not ask for much less expect acceptance of the facts as presented. He would offer the startling findings in the form of witness testimonies then lead the High Council to the conclusion that perusing the knowledge and skills of demon and spirit hunting was a must.

Hours of testimony and questioning later Dixon was as exhausted as his team. Whether it was wishful thinking or naiveté that lead him to believe that people, some of whom could be very close minded, would readily accept their new reality was irrelevant. Something had to be done before he left or his lieutenant Elsa's authority would be challenged the moment he left. Dixon called Lena, Lance and Haskell together for a private conference. A brainstorming session. They had to find a way to make the council understand the seriousness of the situation. It was Lena that came up with a very risky put plausible plan.

* * *

Dean pulled to the side of the road outside a great iron gate and double checked his address. The directions Dixon gave him lead to a property the size of a wild life preserve surrounded by twenty foot high stone walls. It would appear his new junior partner moved in the same social circles as Bill Gates and may well pay higher taxes. No this wasn't intimidating at all. Dean pulled up to the surveillance camera and pushed the intercom button.

"Dean Winchester. I'm picking up Dixon Channing." He identified himself to the monotone voice that asked him his business and the gate slowly opened.

Dean was told to come in but stop on the other side where a second barrier and two armed guards awaited. The white house would have been easier to get into. The guard leaned on the Impala as he politely ordered Dean to surrender all weapons and submit to a search while his partner searched the car. 'This is it Dean.' thought, 'Next time the guy comes to me.'

"Sorry pal that's just not happening." He said with a smile.

"No one is permitted to enter until they have been cleared through us." The guard insisted less courteously.

"Fine, call Dixon and tell him to come out with his bags." Dean suggested what he thought was a reasonable compromise, "I'll wait here."

"Lu iye sala asama aksu" asked the other guard.

'_Can I shoot him?'_

"Ai" snapped the first, "Baru sasi adu iye amaru ayyu iss asana aksu"

'_No. Watch him while I find out what to do with this ass.'_

"Ka nibu hakamu?" the second guard asked in horror.

'_You wouldn't suggest?' _

"Addaniqa." the first returned with disgust and took a few steps away.

_'__Please.'_

Moments after the guard stepped away and delivered the message Dean's phone rang and to his relief it was Dixon.

"Hello Dean, I'm glad you found us so easily." Dixon said in his usual well mannered way, "I would love to have you come up to the house to rest and have a good meal before we set out."

"Sounds good but I'm afraid these guards won't let men." Dean answered.

"Won't let you? I don't understand." Dixon responded startled.

"They say they have to search me, my car and confiscate all weapons and that just isn't going to happen." Dean answered.

"The guard is merely trying to insure you're not armed or transporting weapons." Dixon explained.

"Of course I'm armed." Dean laughed, "And this car has a trunk load of weapons."

"Yes of course, how foolish." Dixon laughed, "I'll speak with the guard."

"Go ahead." Dean put the phone on speaker.

"Admit Mr. Winchester." Dixon kept it short and to the point.

"I'm sorry Sir, I haven't searched either the driver or the car yet." The guard answered.

"I am aware. Admit him." Dixon repeated himself.

"Sir I can't do that without performing the search and confiscating all weapons." The guard answered in a very business like manner.

"On who's authority do you treat my orders as optional?" Dixon asked an edge in his voice.

"I'm very sorry Sir I mean no disrespect but I'm under orders." the guard stammered nervously.

"I am aware, I issued those orders." Dixon droned a hint of annoyance in this voice then commanded, "Admit him."

"Yes Sir." The guard replied, turning red when Dean laughed as he drove through the gate.

Dean stopped laughing as he drove up to a three story manner house. The imposing edifice, surrounded by meticulously maintained lawns and gardens belonged in the English countryside, . The laneway lead Dean through one of two red brick archways into a massive courtyard created by the main structure of the manor, a wing on each side, and a brick wall across the front were the two large arches allowed admittance. At the center of the courtyard was a grand fountain, simple in its design yet very impressive with it's many water spouts and tiered pools. He pulled up in front of a recessed entrance and climbed out looking around trying to figure out what he was looking at, a palace or a prison. A suited gentleman walked up to him.

"Sir, if you could wait here Mr. Channing will arrive in a moment." The gentleman said.

He spoke with a calm quiet voice and there wasn't the slightest hint of sarcasm in the Sir. He even had a small courteous smile on his face. Dixon sauntered up to the Impala looking every bit a landed English gentleman, with a welcoming smile, a regal barring, and impeccable attire. This guy was going to be living on the road with him? Dean wondered how long it was going to last.

"I'll take care of this Garrick, thank you." Dixon relieved the polite gentleman of his duty.

"Of course, Belu." Garrick answered with a slight bow then turned to Dean, "Good day Mr. Winchester." and ambled away.

"I'll take you to my personal garage." Dixon suggested, climbing into the passenger seat.

Dean didn't have to see any other room in the manor before deciding the warehouse sized garage would be his favourite. Parked in two long rows was; a 71 Roadrunner, a 69 GTO, a 66 Thunderbird, a 66 Corvette and 64 Corvette Stingray, a 63 Lincoln Continental, a 67 Mustang T5, and well many, many more but Dean didn't have the opportunity to see them all. Dixon let him wonder down the row of beautifully maintained classics in aw struck wonder for only a few moments before placing a hand on his shoulder and promising another look, later. In route to the exit Dean paused to scrutinized his baby and decided she was still the best.

On those rare occasions when Dean encountered privilege it was on the job. Hunting, then making a hasty exit did not provide the best opportunity to appreciate the finer things that came with affluence. A cobbled path lead to a stained glass side door and down a six foot wide hallway lined with fine chairs, tables and paintings. Not prints but paintings, some of which looked familiar. They made several turns passing open sliding or French doors giving Dean quick glimpses of large occupied rooms each luxuriously furnished and decorated. People were relaxing, sipping tea in sitting rooms, having an afternoon drink and playing pool a 'bar', or buried in a book in the library. Palace not prison or was it an exclusive five star resort. On the other hand the one thing he didn't see was a TV. Maybe not a palace. When Dixon stopped at an elevator Dean couldn't resist. He had to ask.

"So what are your rates?"

"Rates?" Dixon was startled.

"I'll bet you have a pool, a gym and a spa. Do you have to be a member of the 500 club to get in?" Dean asked with a wide grin.

A light went on in Dixon's head and he laughed, "We also have a music room, an art room and a games room. I think you would like the games room."

"I've already seen my favourite room, the garage, but I wouldn't mind some time in the bar with the pool table. I'm running low on cash." Dean replied with a smirk.

Dixon had to stop and stare before pointing out, "Just a few months ago you won a quarter of a million dollars."

"Yah, that pays the credit cards but I'm damned careful about taking out cash." he explained, "Cayman accounts aren't that traceable but I don't take any unnecessary chances."

"I'm sure we'll find time for a little leisure before we leave. Are you hungry or would you prefer to rest?" Dixon offered.

"After two days on the road some food and a shower would be good and I wouldn't turn down a bed for the night. " Dean answered then asked about the others in the manor, "All these people, do they live here too?"

"Most do. We all have our private apartments and gather in the common rooms."

"Weird." Dean muttered but smiled at Dixon, "After food and a good nights rest we can leave for Niagara Falls in the morning."

"Niagara falls?" Dixon asked surprised.

"Yah, a two for one deal. There's a screaming tunnel and mysterious deaths in a hotel rumoured to be haunted."

"Spirits, and demons?" Dixon asked hopefully.

"We'll figure it out when we get there."

Over Christmas Dean searched his memory for something he'd done in the area hoping to start the guardian off with a job he could control but came up blank. Over the past year Dean had spent much of his time dealing with all the jobs he remembered. Being able to avoid research, which often took weeks, allowed him to set a dizzying pace. It was conceivable Dean could, complete every job he'd worked over six years in no more than two and when alone he saw no need to dally. A job done, a night of fun then on to the next. Dean was already well ahead of himself. Unfortunately he had already worked Pennsylvania and the surrounding area doing all the hunts he could at the time. There would be cause to return in the near future however it wasn't possible to hunt a werewolf that wouldn't exist for another nine months.

"You're not certain?" Dixon asked unclear on the fundamentals of a spirit hunt.

"Not until we get there and investigate." Dean looked at him surprised, "Do you always know what you're dealing with before you get there?"

"Not always but as a rule, yes." Dixon answered as they stepped into the elevator, "Our research department is very thorough and creatures do follow rather distinctive patterns."

"Wowe, a whole department to do all the boring drudge work." Dean sighed dreamily, "Yah well, we'll be on our own when it comes to the spirit and demon hunts and even on monster hunts there are some things you can only find out by interviewing people. But dude any time you get the urge to call for back ground info feel free." Dean grinned and bounce an eyebrow then paused, "Though with shape shifters background could be misleading.

"Shape shifters?" Dixon asked thoughtfully then speculated, "Perhaps we know them by another name."

"Monsters that shed their skin to become someone else." Dean capsulised.

"We've encountered a creature like that but very rarely." Dixon nodded in recognition, "There was some speculation that it's a new strain of werebeing however it's not ruled by the lunar cycle."

"No, it's a different species. Shape shifters aren't made their born " Dean explained as much as he knew or guessed, "They know who and what they are and shift by choice. I don't know if they're evil by nature or just become that way but I've never come across one that wasn't."

Dixon sighed, yet another thing they didn't know. The great Maseru indeed.

The elevator opened to a grand foyer of white marble floors and pillars. A round marble table sat in the middle of the room on which rested an intricately painted Greek urn and a silver dish. To each side of the foyer the pillars supported walls covered in sophisticated murals while straight ahead was a sunken living room with highly polished hardwood floors and lined with white marble pillars adorned with ivy. At the center of the expansive room was a white space carpet on which was a comfortable looking living room set in shades of blue with tables of light toned woods and bras light fixtures. Beyond the sitting area stood a massive fire place which Dean found odd as it was not set into a wall. The whole fireplace appeared to be marble including the six foot high fire box. Dean didn't know anything about interior design but it looked cool to him. Eight to ten feet beyond the fireplace and a few steps up was a ten foot high glass wall which included French glass doors leading to a deck that came complete with a bar and hot tub. Dean would have dived right into the hot tub if he wasn't afraid of falling asleep in the water and drowning. Through pillared archways to the left of the expansive living room was an equally generous dining area well appointed in bleached oak and to the right was a spacious office fitted in darker woods. The draperies adorning the floor to ceiling windows were open allowing the rooms to be filled with the brilliant rays of the setting sun.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here." Dixon said with a welcoming smile, "These are my personal apartments. No one will disturb you. I'll show you to a guest room where you can shower and change. Do you like roast beef?"

"Yah sure." Dean mumbled following him through the office area and down a hall to a room decorated in light wood and hunter green.

"The lavatory is through here, make yourself comfortable. I'll order dinner." Dixon finished and left him alone.

Dean hoped his jaw hadn't sagged when they entered the suite. He had lived in apartments smaller than the guest room. It had it's own sitting area fireplace and a TV, (at last a TV), an impressive desk and credenza and a private balcony. He knew anyone who stays in a Los Vegas casino and drops fifty thousand dollars without batting an eye was well to do but he hadn't realised how well. 'This guy is going to be living out of my car? For how long?'. After giving it careful thought Dean decided it didn't matter as long as Dixon knew what he was doing and was an ally when it was over. If he found Meg before they parted company it would be a bonus. Dean took his time enjoying the lap of luxury, showering in a stall larger than any bathtub he'd ever been in, dozing on a pillow top mattress and waiting for Dixon to call him to supper. It was a stranger that knocked on the door and announced, 'Dinner is served.'

A man in a three piece suit bowed when Dean opened the door then lead the way to the dinning area where Dixon was already seated. His host rose to great him though Dean didn't see why. What was all this nodding and bowing for anyway. It was getting on his nerves. Dean gave the servant a quick look when he pulled the chair out for him and almost jumped when he took a napkin and laid it on Dean's lap. Dean watched in fascination and perhaps a little alarm as the servant began serving Dixon's plate. No one had served Dean's plate since he was five and no one was going to start now. Dixon must have noticed Dean's discomfort.

"That will be all thank you, Jasper." Dixon dismissed the servant before he had a chance to attend to Dean.

Dean never felt more out of his element. Even with the servant gone the formality of the setting, the fine china, the silver trays, (and damn the silver was sterling), left Dean afraid to move. Dixon lifted a tray of thick slabs of meat and offered it to him.

"Please take as much as you like." He said, so Dean grabbed three big slabs, "The asparagus tips are particularly tender in the winter.' Dixon offered another plate of something Dean didn't recognise. 'What the hell' he thought and grabbed a few, "This is Yorkshire pudding. Lovely with gravy."

Dixon held out a plate of what looked like browned cupcake shaped bread roles that had fallen slightly. Dean didn't see any potatoes so he doused a couple of puddings with gravy and dived into the unknown. After a few unfortunate experiences experimenting with food during his vacation with Sam this traditional English dinner turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

Dixon engaged in pleasant casual conversation about their holidays, letting Dean enjoy his meal before braking the bad news. He waited until Dean was on his second helping of everything before broaching the subject of speaking to the council. He correctly assumed Dean would be more receptive to unpleasant tasks on a full stomach.

Although Dean would have preferred to be bribed with a couple of bacon cheese burgers, a plate of fries and bowl of coleslaw, giving the introduction to spirits and demons seminar wasn't a tall order, especially if he spent the night on a pillow top mattress. Waking up to a stake and eggs breakfast was a bonus even if it was accompanied by a break down of each of the council members. The question that nagged in the back of his mind was 'Why do I need to know all this crap?'. By the time Dean had finished his plate and was munching on toast and marmalade he was getting a bad feeling about this whole affair.

His fears deepened when he was escorted to the 'council chambers' to find twelve people (with Dixon making it thirteen) in their late twenties or early thirties, sitting in leather high backed chairs around a great cherry wood table. Behind each council member, sat an aid in appropriately less comfortable chairs with a computer and stack of files on little tables that reminded Dean of TV trays. Though most in the room were formally dressed there were a couple in jeans which was somewhat comforting but even they wore suit jackets. The only encouraging sight was the arrangement of coffee and tea services of fine china, crystal carafes of water, and a verity of h'orderves. At least he could munch and tank up one caffeine before making his escape. Dean had that 'on trial' feeling sweeping over him but fought the urge to run. As he saw it he had two choices. He could be intimidated by the high powered, big business feel of the event or he could strut his stuff. Dean took only a second to decide that for all their wealth, pomp and circumstance he was the "Pro from Dover" so he began to strut.

Dean followed 'the chairman' of the board to the head of the table and waited politely while Dixon made his introduction. Since he arrived the day before Dean had been feeling the strange buzz he felt on the wendigo hunt and in Oneonta. It was quiet, constant and mildly annoying and was the only thing he was getting. Dean had been picking up identifiable emotions with ease for less than a year, and was far from dependent on the skill. He'd hunted fifteen years and more, gauging peoples veracity by their body language and expressions with little trouble but with a crowd like this gauging their reactions would have been much easier if he could just 'feel them'. After Dixon presented him as a hunter with vast experience with spirits and demons Dean made himself comfortable leaning against a window sill.

"Ladies, gentlemen." He greeted them his tone cordial, "I understand there are a few things we, uhm, freelancers hunt that you don't. Along with spirits and demons you don't hunt witches, and a few others."

"Just one moment Mr. Winchester." One of the council interrupted, "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I haven't told you anything to question yet." Dean answered with a start.

"Mr. Winchester, how long have you been hunting?" asked another.

"Over fifteen years." Dean answered growing confused, "What is this?"

"Can you tell us how many of these creatures you've hunted, both successfully and unsuccessfully?" asked a third.

The council members were taking careful measure of him, analysing him, judging his appearance, his gestures, his every word. The one thing they didn't seem to consider was the possibility that he wouldn't submit to the interrogation.

"What do you think this is, a job interview?" Dean demanded.

"After a fashion yes." The council member at the other end of the table answered.

Dean turned his back to the table, took a calming breath and soaked in a little heat. He wasn't so much angry as he was annoyed and frustrated. Though he was willing to take on one apprentice Dean had no desire to vie for the privilege. Patience, he told himself. He had something to gain here and these people had a right to know who they were listening to. He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair before turning back to the table.

Dean began with a casual, friendly, lets be honest approach, "With the resources you guys have you know where I was born how much I weighed and when I got my first tooth. You know when we went off the grid and probably figured out why. I wouldn't be surprised if you've found a few 'Wanted for questioning' APB's even I don't know about, so lets skip over that stuff. My father is a full time hunter with a military background and combat experience in Vietnam. He began my training when I was six and I started hunting in my teens.

"Everything I'm going to tell you about is from personal experience. I've done more salt and burns than I can count. I've killed shape shifters, witches and of course demons as well as the things you hunted. I don't know if I'm the best hunter on the planet but I'm sure as hell in the top percentile ."

"Can you produce any proof of your claims." The man at the end asked his smirk widening to a mean grin, "Perhaps you could tell us about a few of your more successful hunts?"

There's a dick in every crowd Dean thought and this one Dixon had warned him about. He was a rival of Dixon's who wouldn't care how important this meeting was. He wanted Dixon's position as head of the board and would do everything he could to discredit Dean to in turn humiliate Dixon. Leave me out of this Dean wanted to cry but reminded himself he had something to gain. He whispered in Dixon's ear asked him for a shot of whiskey. Dean didn't give a thought to the kind of impression a drink at ten in the morning might make and didn't really care. He took it in one shot then put the glass aside in favour of the coffee Dixon's aid poured him.

"I'm not applying for a job." Dean retorted, not hiding his growing irritation, "And I sure as hell don't have a resume."

"If you presume to teach us about hunting you had better be prepared to prove yourself to us." the man argued.

"A word Malcolm." Dixon tried to intervene.

"I don't presume anything, I was invited." Dean barked in his best man in charge voice, "You want to swap stories fine, you first. Tell me about your most trilling demon hunt. How about your last salt and burn? Do you even know what a salt and burn is?" Dean dropped his voice an octave or two before continuing, "Would you know if any story I told you about demon hunting was good, bad, fair, or a lie?"

Dean paused a minute to judge the impact he was having on the council. Though some were offended by his words most were subdued giving serious consideration to what he was saying.

"You can take me or leave me, that's your choice. For me I loose nothing either way." Dean wound up for the big finish, "I can tell you that after fifteen years of hunting the worst that's out there I'm still alive and have all my body parts and that's saying something. But unless you intend to summon a demon I sure as hell can't give you any proof."

"Can you summon a demon? Would you?" Asked another, to a mummer of agreement around the table.

"Do you have the slightest idea of what a demon is?" Dean demanded a flash of anger hardening his face as he realized they were quite serous. The muttering stopped his hostility drawing all eyes to him, "The only thing 'The Exorcist' got right was the priests died. If you're still alive after tying a kid to a bed and praying over him you're dealing with some kind of mental disease. Try to grasp the concept."

"We do." said Malcolm, "But apparently we're not as afraid of it as you are."

That was a challenge if Dean had ever heard one but it was directed as much to Dixon as Dean. When they walked into the room Malcolm's eyes rested on Dean only briefly then flickered back to Dixon and his smug grin never faded. He clearly believed he had something up on Dixon and Dean knew it had to do with him. Dean refused to allow this to distract him. He had been perfectly serious when he told Dixon his politics was not of his business. He wanted no part of their fight, and though Malcolm's accent was more European than British, his light brown and copper hair and true blue eyes suggested it could well be a family feud. The eyes and hair was as far as the resemblance went. Dixon was six foot one at the most, strong but trim while Malcolm was perhaps as tall as Sam with a bulky, well muscled frame, like a body builder and out weighted Sam by at least fifty pounds. Size never worried Dean. The only fight with Sam he ever lost, his big, little brother was pumped on demon blood. But this guy wasn't throwing punches and Dean wasn't his target. Dean didn't like being used. It was time to go on the attack. Strange how he suddenly felt comfortable.

"Congratulations, you're not afraid of the unknown. Good for you." Dean sniped with a smirk on his face as he slowly walked to Malcolm's end of the table, "Now are you smart enough to develop a little respect for something that can throw you out of a third floor, plate glass window with just a thought or pin you to a wall and squeeze your guts till you're spitting up blood without laying a finger on you. Something that you can empty a clip into and all you'll do is piss it off."

Malcolm pushed his chair back as Dean rested his rump on the end of the table, folded his arms across his chest and locked eyes with him waiting for his response. Malcolm's smile slipped just a little and only for a moment but his hesitation, however brief, did not go unnoticed.

"You seem to have trouble controlling these creatures." Malcolm remarked visibly sneering, "Tell me, how ever did you survive?"

Dean shut his eyes and held his breath while he swallowed half a dozen cutting remarks that leapt to his lips. That Malcolm was being deliberately belligerent was obvious but could he really be that dense or was itthat he didn't care what he was throwing away as long as he showed up Dixon. 'Oh yah, he didn't care, Dixon mentioned that.'

"What part of demon do you not understand?" Dean asked eyes hard and angry, "They are not creators and you sure as hell can't **CONTROL **them." He pushed off the table and made his way back to Dixon while addressing everyone none confrontationally, "Multiply the power of a spirit by about a hundred and you still haven't reached the power of a demon. It takes skill, talent and training and most important knowing your enemy to fight and survive demons. Their greatest weakness is their ego. They will always underestimate you. They also tend to be predictable. But first you got to know who and what you're dealing with."

"Didn't you just repeat yourself?" Malcolm asked to break Dean's momentum.

"This is getting old!" Dean snarled at Malcolm, then stopped and sucked every drop of heat he could out of the air to relax himself and calm his temper yet the paused in his delivery was imperceptible, "You want to play games don't do it on my time cause I don't have any to spare. There's something stabbing people in an Inn and a tunnel that's swallowing people. I can be on my way right now if you want but do you want?" Dean addressed the last question to the whole council, "You were told what happened in Oneonta. I don't have to convince you there's spirits out there. Are you going to leave that to us or do you want in on the game? An organisation that's hunted evil for thousands of years is going to give vengeful spirits, witches, and demons a pass?"

The air in the room grew thick and heavy as the members of the High Council exchanged glances and nods and a few whispered words. Malcolm fell into an angry silence as his eyes traveled over the faces of the council members. Dean new he'd made an impression when Malcolm's scowl deepened.

"As you said, we have thousands of years of experience." Malcolm tried to regain his footing, "I highly doubt we need your council."

"Malcolm, what is the difference between a hitchhiker and a woman in white?" Dixon asked, "Do you have any idea?"

"Do you?" Malcolm asked and regretted it the moment the words were out of his mouth.

"Not the slightest but I'd bloody well like to find out before I come face to face with one or the other." Dixon answered his eyes smiling though his expression remained stern, "If we have not encountered a spirit in our, precious thousands of years, we can have little expectation of coming face to face with any on our own. Has it ever been our way to stumble about in the dark or sit idlelly by when there is a battle to be fought?"

Before Malcolm could formulate an answer a woman sitting to Dean's right asked, "It was reported that spirits have the power of telekinesis. What kind of power allows one to squeeze your insides until you bleed?"

"It was a demon that did that to me. I'll admit I almost didn't recover and it took a while before I was able to track down the yellow eyed son of a bitch and kill him. I don't know what you'd call that power." Dean started to slip into teacher mode again, "But it's not one your average soldier demon has. The black eyed demons are the most common."

"Black eyed demons?" asked the man sitting beside her.

Malcolm glared at Dixon as Dean launched into his now well practiced spirits and demons lesson. Dean ignored him and focused on the council finding them more interactive than the hunting team had been, possibly because they were more accustomed to asking questions while the team was in the habit following instructions. They seemed genuinely startled when from time to time Dean's answer was "I got no idea." When after this happened a couple of times the council sat back disturbed, at a loss as to what to think of the holes in Dean's information. Malcolm glance around the table and grinned.

"You come here a professed expert but again and again you say you don't know." Malcolm began but Dean cut him off.

"I never said I have all the answers." Dean groaned, "Hell if I live for a hundred or a thousand years I wouldn't be arrogant enough to think I have all the answers and I am one damned arrogant son of a bitch"

"While we're on the subject of things we do not know Dean has information about the creatures that shape shift into different people." Dixon took the opportunity to drive Dean's point home, "Apparently they are not a new strain of werecreature but an entirely different species the hunters call shape shifters. Dean could you tell us all you know."

"I had the dubious honour of having a shape shifter change into me. We can safely say that at least one has good taste." Dean announced, drawing murmurs and a few chuckles from the council.

"It's as we thought, they don't kill their victims." Said the woman to Dean's right.

"No, they form a psychic link to the person they change into and keep him or her alive long enough to download the memories." Dean again became the teacher, "They're also androgynous. The shifter who …"

Malcolm's eyes fired daggers at Dixon not Dean. 'Strange man.' Dean thought but from that point on his nemesis didn't interrupt any more than anyone else though he clearly did his best to come up with questions Dean couldn't answer. Though meeting was at times stressful there was also a few laughs and some useful exchanges as well. The hours went by unnoticed till Dean's stomach suggested he look at his watch. When he pointed this out Dixon called the kitchen and had it send up lunch. Dean groaned, he was planning to use the time as an excuse to call an end to the seminar. Avoiding specifics when answering 'how to' questions was becoming difficult. Fortunately they were as interested in the hierarchy of the demon world and the various types of spirits. It was a little like distracting Sam when he was little and asking all the wrong questions. Dean dodged and distracted till the sun began to set and he pointed out he and Dixon had to drive to Niagara Falls that evening and it was time to get on the road.

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There were some moments of humour when Dixon had six bags brought to the garage. There was another half hour delay as he repacked a few bags cutting his luggage in half including the suit bag. Once on the road Dixon popped one of his own tapes into the cassette player and Dean was about to object when Deep Purple blasted out of the speakers. It was fun having someone who also liked to sing along.

Dixon knew he had become far to accustomed to his comforts and anticipated a difficult adjustment. Traveling with someone who's company he enjoyed who was also one of the most beautiful men he had seen in a vary long time would make things a little easier to cope with. Dixon who was never one to be ruled by physical passion foresaw no difficulties in keeping his lusty fantasies to himself and maintaining a comfortable platonic relationship. The rough and ready hunter wasn't really his type, though he had to admit Dean's handling of the High Council and above all Malcolm had been impressive, however, as long as he stayed rather shallow and very straight there should be no difficulties.

* * *

*Did anyone catch the M*A*S*H reverence "Pros from Dover". The movie made in 1970 with Donald Sutherland, Eliot Gould and Robert Duval, not the series.

**I am proud to announce I have my new computer. I'm still fumbling a little as I try to figure it out however the transfer of data has cost me very little.

***I have been searching very unsuccessfully for a bata reader and am wondering if there is anyone reading that would be interested in the job. I would like to find someone who can proof read for spelling and make observations and suggestions. I ask this person to please be sympathetic to the fact that I am limited in my knowledge of both computers (please simply underline any spelling corrections don't change colours and such as I can't change it back) and fan fiction terminology. (I have only recently discovered what a Marry Sue is) To anyone kind enough to make the commitment I humbly ask that you be certain you will be able to keep it as I have twice attempted this only to have my chapter returned in one case over two months and in another not at all.

Please note that I have an automatic spell checker that does not always make corrections correctly and being dyslexic, (even with three proof readings and at least one out loud to my daughter) I miss a surprising number of mistakes as you well know. I look forward to critiques and suggestions.


	25. Chapter 25 Dixon's Journey

**I don't own Sam, Dean or any of the supernatural characters but I do own the Barbaru. Sadly their only value is entertainment. **

**This was without a doubt one of the toughest chapters to write. It doesn't communicate all I hoped for but it will have to do. I hope you find it enjoyable none the less.**

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Chapter 25

Dixon's Journey

Change was far from new to Dixon but he never experience anything so extreme or abrupt as his leap into the world of the human hunter and initially he found himself reeling from culture shock. Four hours in a car without a bar, a computer and internet access, or anything to do but stare out the window and listen to music was harder than he expected. He did enjoy classic rock and a little shop talk with Dean held his interest yet the sight of the lights of Niagara Falls Ontario was an incredible relief. He made no attempt to sway Dean's choice of motel (It looked clean and respectable) but insisted on paying for it. Dixon proposed, 'You handle the petrol and weapons and I'll take care of accommodations and food.' to which Dean had no objections. A single room, a kitchenette, two queen sized beds and dreary, brown and yellow decor? He tried to be optimistic but when he lay on the bed for a few minutes rest his heart sank. Servants in the Illutu had better beds and none of them shared a room. This would take a great deal of getting used to.

They crossed the boarder in the early evening of New Years Eve and had difficulty finding a restaurant for dinner but a pub and eatery made a table available after Dixon slipped the attendant the appropriate gratuity. If was the first time in a life time the guardian didn't attend a white tie affair but the casual setting facilitated a laid-back, boisterous evening of laughter and fun which he found a pleasant change of pace.

Dixon's first two spirit hunts were relatively uneventful but he was amazed by the degree of effort and patience it took to get the job done. The legendary screaming tunnel was haunted but not by a harmful spirit. Dean struck a wooden match several times bringing a screaming little girl running into the tunnel with her cloths afire who would stumbled and died. Dean called it a death echo and barked at the tragic figure trying to get her attention but she didn't seem to hear. Dean looked at Dixon and said research.

Legend has it a young Militia officer, Captain Swayse was killed when, during the war of 1812 when he delayed joining the retreat to rendezvous with his lady love in a quaint clapboard inn called the Angel Inn. He was bayoneted by an American soldier while hiding in a barrel in the basement. Dixon made a call to the Illutu for information about any fire near the tunnel and learned about the tragic death of eight year old Rosemary who ran from a house fire her cloths ablaze and was found in the tunnel, but of Captain Swayse they found no evidence though the research department did discover several deaths by strange knife wounds prier to the two rednecks who were stabbed to death in a locked room a couple of weeks ago. Dean said that was evidence in itself adding he found a death notice for the Captain after searching several historical museums.

After lunch Dixon joined the hunter in his search for Captain Swayze and marveled at Dean's patience as they searched row after row of head stones in two cemeteries before finding the Captain. Was it patience or was it tenacity? They stopped for take out and over dinner Dean explained the research process highlighting the many things a department in another city could not discover. Long after sundown Dixon took part in his first graveyard salt and burn and found it sadly dull despite Dean's insistence that he keep the Ithaca pump loaded with rock salt, close at hand. Though it was three in the morning Dean pushed on to the screaming tunnel and had Dixon light match after match while he called the girl by name until he found a phrase she responded to, "Rosemary the fire's out" The flames disappeared and as she stared at Dean in a state of confusion he told her she was free to got to heaven. It took time and effort before Rosemary finely understood and disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Dean was right, that would never grow old. As to the missing people Dean suspected runaways or something more sinister but human and asked Dixon if he would have his people check into it just to be sure. In all Dixon's first hunt was educational but uninspiring.

Facing a full day on the road to a little fishing village in Maine, Dixon armed himself with a book, the road maps and had some tapes delivered to Niagara Falls priority post. He made sure they were ninety percent classic rock. To this Dean added newspapers from all the surrounding states and told him to read aloud all the obituaries and any stories about strange or violent deaths, 'Well cover pretty much any deaths, fires, catastrophes, stuff like that. Oh and miracle recoveries too. When you're finished that check the net.' As hunt followed hunt Dixon would find he had little need for the books. The two men quickly grew comfortable with each other and Dixon took every opportunity to learn what he could about Dean and other hunters on the road. In the months that followed travel was searching papers and the net, music and conversation. When they arrived in town it was work accompanied with a great deal of explanation of what, how and why. There would be at least one night of revelry then hours on the road to their next hunt.

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Hunting a spirit in a cosy little house in a little fishing village proved to be difficult. Because they didn't know what they were looking for Dixon experienced first hand how arduous the long hours scouring newspaper archives and city hall records could be. It took over a week to discover why five women, over the past hundred odd years were discovered decapitated in the home and on the same day a man somewhere else in town lost his head. By the time they ascertained the spirit's beginnings, tedium was redefined for Dixon. The team discovered an extensive news article about a sailor found beheaded in his home and days later the sailors wife and another man in town were decapitated. Dixon believed the evidence was inconclusive but Dean insisted it was enough and they went in search of the graveyard.

Able seaman Jack Turner made an appearance while they dug up the grave proving Dean wasn't jumping to conclusions or being rash as the Barbaru had suggested. It was the first time Dixon saw rock salt and Dean in action and both were rather impressive. When the spirit attacked Dean ordered 'keep digging' and went on the attack himself. Dixon never dug so fast in his life. Dean managed to disperse the specter readily enough preventing any significant interference with the digging but was tossed about. Dean insisted the few bruises he received where nothing and told a story of having his head was split open on a grave stone and another about a spirit almost slicing his arm off with a flying shovel. He laughed as if these things were nothing and perhaps to Dean they were. Though he did not show it Dixon was initially appalled by Dean's blase attitude toward such brutality and violence.

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On the road to Virginia Dixon thought long and hard about his attitudes. Though Dean was not one to march around in his shorts Dixon had seen how covered in scars he was and though his gut reaction was 'what a terrible thing to do to such beauty' he now remembered a time when all soldiers looked like that. Only the weak who fought in the rear in a battle and surrendered quickly could escape unscathed thus such wounds were paraded like badges of courage. Those were brutal times in which only the strongest survived and as weeks became months Dixon realized this too was a brutal life and he had indeed gone soft. Temporarily.

Between celebrating successful hunts and searching for new ones Dixon managed to insert serious conversations, one in which he asked Dean why he hunted and if he would pursue something else given the opportunity. Dean needed to give it little thought.

He finely answered, "It's not just what I do it's what I am. This is the only life I've ever known and I can't see myself doing anything else. Besides didn't some one say 'All evil needs to thrive is that good men do nothing.'? I don't like the idea of evil thriving and I've never been good at doing nothing ."

"I've never loved evil myself." Dixon agreed thoughtfully, "I sometimes wonder if this war will ever end, or if it's even possible to win."

"You're kidding right?" Dean chuckled, "We can never win, not till Hell freezes over. Literally. I know you're just getting used to the whole demon thing but think about it. As long as there's Hell there's evil and Hell's not going anywhere. It's over and won at end of days."

Dean slipped into a sombre mood for hours after this conversation and Dixon did not disturb him. He was deep in his own thoughts mulling over the concept of a war with evil that could never be won. The Barbaru did not regard were creatures, skin walkers and other such beasts as evil in the strictest sense. They were mindless animals dangerous in nature who needed to be put down. But demons were another matter. This new enemy drastically reshaped the landscape of the Barbaru's existence bringing both menace and a new urgency to the battle. As the Impala rumbled along chewing up the highway Dixon studied Dean's profile. He'd know soldiers like this before. He'd even been one, many of the Barbaru had. In a world now populated with demons they would have to don their worrier's dress again.

Dean never burdened Dixon with his dark thoughts but pulled himself out of his sullen mood and began singing along with the tape deck. Dixon allowed himself to be drawn in to good spirits again but the astute observation was never far from his thoughts.

Before they reached the hills of Virginia Dean stopped at a little town to replenish his funds. The wily hunter elevated hustling pool to an art form and truly enjoyed the game but one aspect of his technique was a revelation to Dixon. He was quite off hand when he asked Dean if he deliberately hustled gay men and flirted with them as a means to keep them off balance. Dean was remarkably subtle but no gay man would miss his flirting. Dean denied all and tolerated little discussion, insisting the subject be closed. Dixon's admission that he was bisexual did for a short time create a rift between them but Dean had a profound "None of my business" policy and lived by it thus differences were quickly forgotten. Once the furore died down other than exorcising a little more decorum around Dixon Dean seemed to forget about the incident. A month later the subject came up again.

SSSSSSSSSS

Dixon saw a monster hunt in the hills of Virginia as an opportunity to show off his extensive skills. He identified what they were hunting and had considerably greater knowledge and understanding of goblins. He was grateful that Dean had no qualms about letting Dixon form the strategy and led the hunt through the hills outside of town looking for the monster. It was in the wood that Dixon first began to wonder just who or what Dean was. That human strength, senses and hunting instincts were not as developed as the Barbaru was not a prejudice but a fact. Dean should not have been telling Dixon to pick up the pace. He matched Dixon move for move and more. Several times the trail grew cold but Dean managed to "guess" the right direction allowing Dixon to find the trail again. When Dixon asked Dean how he could keep such a pace and find the trail Dean only smiled saying he'd been training to do this since he was six years old and asked Dixon what his 'excuse' was. The answer seemed a little suspicious but this was not the time for Dixon to pursue it.

The cave where the Goblin lived was a horrifying sight for anyone to behold with human body parts hung from lines aging. It was an even greater terror for two little girls that witnessed their mother's death and dismemberment. Neither girl uttered a single word as Dean and Dixon carried them out of the wood. With soothing words of comfort Dean managed to get them to drink a little water but anything else said on the long walk to town seemed to fall on deaf ears. Not wanting to put their spelunking story to the test they hurriedly packed. Dean was very subdued and suspecting he was upset about the children Dixon asked if, after they were safely away, they could call to find out how the girls were but Dean said it wasn't a good idea.

"We can't save them all. You just put aside the ones you loose and remember the ones you do, but don't get involved in their lives." Dean counselled, "There's just too many people to care about. You'll burn out if you don't keep a little distance. The only thing you take away is whatever you learned about hunting."

Dixon looked into those much to old eyes and wondered how well he practiced what he preached. Was it daily dining on blood and horror that turned this young man old or was it something more. He probed for further ideals and beliefs by prompting comment on his own philosophies and expreances. In weeks to come Dixon would come to the conclusion that in order to develop such an odd mix of cynicism, sorrow, and painful knowledge with unwavering conviction, Dean would have had to live a hundred years in his twenty six.

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Dixon knew he had become to pampered when he found it difficult to rest on the perfectly respectable motel beds and didn't enjoy the completely acceptable meals in the restaurants they eat and he didn't even want to think about some of the burger shacks they stopped at when on the road. But as time passed he found that eating because you're hungry could inspire a new appreciation for simpler meals and falling into bed exhausted made every bed comfortable. What he was finding difficulty adjusting to was hunting without an inexhaustible supply of manpower or a perfect knowledge of the subject he was hunting but hardest of all was putting his faith in the man in charge.

Dixon never sought power but was forced into the role by a quirk of fate and moment of rage, yet now, following another worrier he was unsettled by his lack of control. He hoped that as his confidence in Dean grew his disquiet would diminish. By the time they pointed the Impala in the direction of Mississippi, Dixon was beginning to feel more a worrier again and the disquiet was beginning to fade. By the time they left Mississippi, Dixon knew he was a worrier again and that he was following the lead of a worthy general.

A call from a friend and hunter named Bobby sent Dean and Dixon to Pontotoc, Mississippi where the suicide rate was more than three times the national average. It turned out to be the most difficult hunt Dixon had ever been on. It took weeks of interviewing the families of tormented victims driven to suicide, doctors and the local M E. Then three more days of following a teenaged boy who was on the verge of a nervous break down, before they finely spotted and identified the glowing demon creature the suicide victims claimed were haunting them. It was no more than three feet tall and resembled a cross between a cartoon devil, and a dragon, (not a cartoon dragon). It was a Gargoyle.

Dean had no experience with them but did not turn away or pass it to someone else. There was no one else. On this hunt Dixon would not have wanted to be calling the shots and though he was impressed with his teacher's ability to handle himself under fire the Barbaru's anxiety levels were high. Dean referenced The Book of Angels and Demons and sought advice from his friend Bobby. They discovered Gargoyles were created by a demon, fed on blood like a vampire, and could teleport in the blink of an eye even when corporeal. They also found an Enchean chant that would force the creature to materialize making it vulnerable to evergreen. They summoned the glowing leathery green cambion in a salt sealed, abounded store front in a deserted part of town. They left one salt line broken and fixed it the instant the gargoyle appeared. It materialized in a corner at the ceiling shrieking, making vile threats and slinging offensive and degrading insults. Dixon had never witnessed anything like it.

It's ability to teleport made it a horror to shoot. It's twisted dragon like features seemed to be everywhere, it's pointy teeth bared in a sneering smile as it laughed while slinging insults at them. Dixon emptied his quiver finding his longbow not up to the task though he his practiced skill. He was unaccustomed to being mocked and less familiar with defeat. No doubt his frustration and anger with ridicule, contributed to his failure. Dean's face was an emotionless mask his eyes intense as he tracked the laughing misshapen dwarf with it's ridicules arrowhead tale. His cross bow had a little more speed but his quiver was half empty when the hunter yelled "Watch for the smoke." Even so he was down to his second last arrow when it found the heart of the Gargoyle. Dean had aimed at a little puff that turned into the taunting gargoyle. Only then did Dean's face twist in mocking rage as he hurled a few insults of his own and laughed at the dead gargoyle. Dean told him all demons loved to slander and insult and when given the opportunity he returned in kind. Dixon's report to the council that night was a long difficult one, on the other hand his disquiet had faded to unnoticeable.

Both agreed that after such a arduous hunt a little relaxation was called for and in the next town they stopped for a day of rest and recreation. Dean took six hundred dollars from a gay man who followed Dean out of a pub expecting a tryst and when rejected accused the hunter of being a 'cock teaser'. Though Dean snarled at the man and threatened him with a beat down Dixon saw the shock and confusion in his partner's eyes and finely understood that Dean honestly hadn't realised what he was doing.

When Dixon first admitted he was bisexual and pointed out that Dean's pool hustling practices suggested the same Dean said amongst other things, 'My dad is a soldier, a marine, with no tolerance for any kind of weakness.' Dixon had been offended by the suggestion and dropped the subject. Seeing the fear in Dean's eyes when confronting the gay man gave the statement a whole new meaning. Dixon had come to know Dean much better since the subject first cam up. He knew enough not to disturb the young man's silence but waited till nightfall when Dean could hide in the darkness. When he could open himself up in secret and listen without fear of discovery. Dixon waited for the sounds of Dean putting away his flask of whiskey and settling in for the night before asking the hunter if he knew anything about the Spartans.

"I'm a walking encyclopaedia of military history, dude." Dean answered with a laugh, "I sure as hell know about all the Greek wars and definitely the battle of Thermopylae."

"I'm damned familiar with that one myself but what do you know about the Greek culture?" Dixon pressed.

Dean's interest seem to fade as he mumbled, "Not much, why?"

"I have a very important point to make so please hear me out." Dixon asked then began a tail that would become very important to Dean, "During the archaic and classic periods of the Greek civilisation most of the so called civilised world at that time was very patriarchal and nowhere was it more so than in Greece. Wives and daughters were confined to the rear of the home forbidden to take part in public or political life and were not permitted to socialize not even dine with the men. Their marriages were arranged by their fathers, they had no say in the matter what so ever. Sons were another matter. When they came of age, which was from fifteen to seventeen, they were placed in a pederasty relationship. Suitors had to vie for their affection, prove themselves worthy to the boy and his father. Slaves were assigned to watch over the lads to insure they were not seduced or violated in any way. The literature and art of the period abound in depictions and tales of these relationships. The most famous are of historical figures of course."

"Wait, wait." Dean interrupted despite Dixon's request, "What is this pederasty?"

"Pederasty comes from pais meaning child and eromenos which means beloved." Dixon explained but was interrupted before he could continue.

"Are you talking about a gay thing in Greece. A father arranged and approved gay thing?" Dean demanded.

"Dean I implore you to let me finish my story." Dixon pleaded, "It will work it's way back to the Spartans and I will make my vital point." Dean reluctantly muttered agreement and Dixon continued, "The relationship lasted a number of years during which the man cared for, educated and supported the boy until he was betrothed and was known to continue beyond his marriage. As I'm sure you know military service was required of all free Greek men. The Persians ruled most of the world when it tried to conquer Greece and it was this tiny conglomeration of cities that defeated what was considered one of the most powerful empires to have ever been created.

"The Spartans carried their military service, the shunning of women and relationships with men to the extreme. Women were, to a point, educated and given a measure of combat training so they could defend the city when the men were gone to war but again they were segregated and though there were greater demands on Spartan women they were still mere chattel. Weakness of any kind was not tolerated in Spartan men. When a child was born a city leader examined the baby and if any weakness or imperfection was found it was left to the elements. If the child was deemed worthy he was raised and educated to one purpose. To war. At the age of seven he was taken from his mother to begin his military training. This would be the last meaningful contact he would have with a woman until he was betrothed.

"Military training was brutal. Beatings to build endurance and character were frequent and survival was an issue. They were not only trained to fight and kill they were taught to lie, cheat, and steal to survive and the final test of a Spartan soldier was to attack a slave by stealth, murder him with their bare hands and leave undetected. The boys were completely submergence into this all male world of soldiers. It's all encompassing purpose was so cement the bond between soldiers and their loyalty to Sparta. A woman's only function in Sparta was to bare sons whom the husband would visit to mould and prepare for the day he was taken. When the young man married it was for the sole purpose of procreation. After fifteen odd years completely immersed in a male existence the bride had to wear her husbands armour to bed in order to entice him. Yes the Spartans were very extreme, but the next time your father or anyone else claims bisexuality or even homosexuality is synonymous with weakness point out that it was a culture that promoted love relationships between men and broadly practised bisexuality that made the most famous heroic militarily stand at Thermopylae."

After a protracted silence Dixon heard Dean heave a heavy sigh and breath, "Now that's profound."

He joined in a chuckle indulging the hunter's coping mechanism but when Dean fell quiet he waited for something of substance which didn't come.

"Dean I'm not about to tell you what to think or how to feel." Dixon spoke into the darkness, "I only ask you to give this little truth some thought."

"Is that historians guessing and speculating?" Dean asked hesitation in his speech.

"No, it's well documented." Dixon answered, "Aristotle, Sophocles, Plato, and a variety of other philosophers, play writes and poets made comment on the practice. Some were not as approving as others but it only proves pederasty was an accepted part of their culture. Even Zeus carried off a boy for his own and one of the reasons promoted for the assassination of Phillip II of Macedonia was the indignant outrage of his lover over Phillips refusal to aveng his rape by Attalus. That's another story, a protracted and convoluted one but it does have quite a few grains of truth in it."

"Wowe." Dean breathed again then sighed, "Catch some z's dude."

Dean opted to not talk about Greeks, Spartans, Macedonians and pederasty for a very long time but there were changes however subtle in Dean's behaviour that told Dixon he'd scored a victory.

* * *

When the girl at the desk at Mount Washington Hotel in New Hampshire, misunderstood Dixon's request for room 314, he not only didn't correct her but prevented Dean from doing so. In private Dean glared and snarled at Dixon who seeing the hint of laughter in Dean's eyes snickered and joked. It made Dixon laugh and tease all the more when Dean refused to share the famous princes bed. Instead he rapped himself in a blanket and got comfortable in a big wing chair. Though Dean snarled at his teasing, Dixon could hear him laughing under his breath. They had no idea how long it would take to cajole the rooms spirit into trying to toss one of them out the window, as it rarely did so, and Dixon refused to take turns on the chair insisting there was room enough for both on the bed. Though Dean dearly wanted to order Dixon off the bed he had agreed that in all none hunting matters they were equals he kept to the bargain.

Dixon was laughing uproariously as Dean grumbled and complained while trying to get comfortable in the big chair for the third night when Dean barked, "You're such a total bitch, Dix."

There was a sudden shriek and a powerful gust of wind that seemed to come up from the floor tossing furniture and making the bed jump. Then Dean was lifted by an invisible force and thrown out the window. With a powerful roar Dixon was out the window after him. He landed lightly by Dean's side and for a moment stared horrified then bellowed for help.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Keeping vigil by Dean's bedside was a turning point for Dixon. In three months he had learned much of hunting, more than he had expected to and developed a new respect for human beings in general and Dean in particular. Good company, a knowledgeable hunter and pleasant scenery was as much consideration as Dixon had given the young hunter when they first set out. He had thought Dean intelligent, resourceful and courageous but shallow, volatile and insensitive and most certainly arrogant. By April Dixon came to realise Dean was a complex creature with many layers and depths impossible to measure. Lust for one as beautiful as Dean was common for Dixon, but this uncultured, battle hardened worrier with his amusing little boy ways had begun to stir something in Dixon he had thought long gone. Dean's faults, were not well hidden if he even bothered to try. He was openly arrogant, prone to moods and brooding, mildly volatile when provoked and a heavy drinker. The only flaw that worried Dixon was the drinking.

While Dean lay in a comma Dixon stayed glued to his chair dozing but never sleeping only leaving to use the facilities. He called the Illutu demanding they find the best doctors and bring them to the little hospital in the mountain village. He had learned so much in the few months he was with Dean he told them, but knew he had much to learn and he could not conceive of being able to make another such arrangement with anyone else but in his solitary observance by the bed side Dixon admitted to himself that frantic because he was losing his heart to the human hunter.

Each day the team of specialists sent by the Illutu came into the room, checked Dean's wounds and were confounded by the extraordinary speed at which they healed while they worried about his slow heart rate, reduced breathing and strange brain wave patterns. After four days Dixon took up his cell phone and stared at it like it was something evil. He watched Dean call his brother at least once a week, sometimes chatting for an hour, sometimes leaving the message, 'I'm fine little brother. Take care of yourself.' Some of the calls were filled with jokes and shared stories while other times he would snarl declaring he was going to 'Give that self-righteous dick a beat down.' In this respect they were typical brothers. But even in their arguing Dixon could see how profoundly deep and strong their bond was thus he knew the longer he waited to call Sam the angrier and more desperate the boy would be. He didn't know how he would be able to comfort Sam when his own heart was breaking but it was a duty he would not be able to shirk. Tonight, he decided, 'I will call him tonight.' Then Dean woke up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

***The legends of hauntings in Niagara Falls Ontario are genuine and have been documented on television in 'Creepy Canada' The haunting of sailor is also true however the house is in Newfoundland not Maine. No deaths have been attributed to any of these cases.**

****The haunted room in Mount Washington New Hampshire has been documented in various literature and TV programs most notably by 'Ghost Hunters' however the conversation they recorded (EVP) was with a none hostile spirit who could hear them but not see them. One of her statements was, "Of course I'm here. Where are you?" Though she had rustled bed cloths, moved things, and appeared (Full body apparition) in the room to my knowledge she has never been violent.**

*****Dixon's description of ancient Greek culture, the practice of pederasty and the raising and indoctrinating of the Spartan men is historically accurate however there is debate and discussion regarding the motive for the assassination of King Philip II of Macedon.**

******I'm hoping upon hope for critiques on this one. The story is outlined and there is much to say but story seems to be getting painfully long. How might I trim the fat without loosing the meat or should I let it go on till it's told.**

*******Today I beg you review.**


	26. Chapter 26 Cross Roads

**_ Insert usual disclaimer. **

**I didn't receive a great deal or response from my request for reviews so I'm somewhat at a loss as to what to do so I forge ahead and hope for greater counsel in the future.**

* * *

**Chapter 26**

**Crossroads  
**

Dean had never seen Dixon, the master of composure, as shocked as when he opened his eyes in the hospital. He had been vaguely aware of activity around him which neither surprised nor troubled him. A three story fall wasn't a great worry. He'd lived through worse and had confidence in his Quradu healing abilities, but seeing a spear of glass sticking out of his chest he fully expected to be in a hospital when he woke up. Dean struggled to a sitting position and looked around at all the beeping monitors.

"Was I that bad off?" he asked.

"Yes." Dixon answered still very wide eyed, "Dean, you shouldn't be alive."

"We Winchesters don't die that easy." Was all Dean could come up with at the moment, "Let's get out of here."

"I wouldn't advise it." Dixon protested, "You've been in a coma for four days. Please let the doctors look after you. I've brought the finest from around the country."

"I appreciate it, I really do." Dean responded moved by Dixon's efforts on his behalf.

Before Dean could complete his thought Doctor Lena Tennyson entered the room, froze and for a moment allowed her jaw to drop. She looked from Dixon to Dean and back again, gave her head a good shake and muttered something Dean didn't need to translate and Dixon whispered something back 'Later.' Dean had more pressing matters to attend to so he ignored her.

"They'll have questions I can't answer." Dean found himself pointing out the obvious, "Trust me Dix, I wouldn't be awake if I wasn't alright."

"You'll have to explain this too me." Dixon stated while trying to help Dean to his feet despite the hunter's protests.

With stiff limps, and aches and pains he didn't understand, getting dressed proved an arduous task. Dean found it humiliating to struggle under Lena's angry glare. Dixon gave her a warning look keeping her silent, but Dean could feel an increased intensity in the buzz emanating from her that felt like nails on a chock board. 'What was she so pissed about,' he wondered, 'sorry I lived?' There were too many people crowding in on his blissfully autonomous life of late. Amid protests from everyone save Dixon, Dean signed himself out and shuffled out the door as quickly as he could. The Barbaru doctor followed them to the parking lot and, unable to keep her silence, demanded an explanation for Dean's miraculous recovery.

"You demand?" Dean barked at her, "Since when do I answer to you?"

"Since our Belu began traveling with you." She retorted with equal force and accusation, "You're not human are you?"

"My partner's the only one I owe explanations to." Dean snarled back then added, "FYI, I'm very human."

He stopped his shuffle put a hand on the Impala and glared at Dixon who was leading him to the passenger side of the car.

"And what are you doing?" He asked.

"You are weak, unsteady and having difficulty walking, not to mention that for the past four days everyone's been waiting for you to die." declared Dixon, the leader of men, "Bloody hell, you are in no condition to drive."

"I'll let you know …" Dean began then paused and changed his mind. He was having trouble just holding his head up. "Fine but you be careful with my baby."

They left Lena fuming in the hospital parking lot and Dean promptly forgot about her. It felt strange having someone other than Sam behind the wheel of his baby. He told himself Dixon had earned the right. Dean had to make a consorted effort to convince himself of this, but managed it. They drove in silence a few minutes more before Dean asked how badly he had been hurt. He expected a painful chest and perhaps tenderness from a broken bone or two but was surprised by the dull headache and pain all over. Dixon described finding him in a pool of blood, with a three foot piece of glass sticking out of his chest and another in his throat. The blood flow from the carotid artery was partially stopped by the glass and no one was foolish enough to pull it out but despite Dixon's best efforts blood continued to slowly oozed from both wounds until the helicopter arrived. He added as an after thought that Dean also had a fractured skull and multiple contusions and lacerations.

Dean knew a person could bleed out in a matter of minutes and it took the helicopter fifteen minutes to arrive. In that time blood had soaked into his cloths from his neck to his heals Dixon told him. When they lifted him to the stretch it dribbled from his hands and heels like a slow running faucet. The paramedics estimated Dean had lost five or six pints before being airlifted. He should have been dead. Dean could see Dixon looking at him with the steady quiet gaze he used when waiting for something. Needing time to sort his thoughts Dean closed his eyes and slouched down in the seat. Dieing and coming back, he was getting used to that, but not dieing when he should have, was a little spooky.

* * *

Often Dean reminded Dixon of a wild colt, wild free and full of zeal. His laugh was unrestrained, he indulged his needs for food drink and female company with great pleasure and passion, and he spoke his mind with bold honesty without fear of consequence. He was Dean and if Dixon or anyone else didn't like it they would just half to deal or move on. Dixon had forgotten how it felt to be so free. He once been so free and longed for those days. Alone on the road the restraints of office began to fade away and Dixon learned to laugh again. But there was another side of Dean that was never far away. Even in a bar hustling pool, picking up a girl or just playing darts with Dixon he could see, like a shadow following behind Dean, the soldier aware of his surroundings posed to act at the first sign of danger. He reminded Dixon of the Celts of old indulging in life like it was an all you can eat buffet whether he was eating, drinking, making love or fighting. Dixon felt like a kid looking through the window at a closed candy store, his mouth watering, but look was all he could do.

But as captivated as Dixon was by Dean there was always a voice in the back of his mind telling him something was wrong. It was something in Dean's eyes that bespoke of terrible knowledge, and inexorable and unapologetic purpose that was beyond Dixon's comprehension. this more than anything else motivated The Barbaru to keep the relationship platonic. The Barbaru were by nature a passionate people but Dixon was not one to be ruled by his heart much less by lust. The simple fact that humans had such short life spans made romantic attachments problematic at best and, thought it had not been forbidden for centuries, cross species relationships were greatly discouraged. But love is not a rational thing and no matter how hard the mind tries to control it the heart will wonder where it will. As January became February and February March Dixon, found himself getting lost in Dean's beautiful green eyes as he listened to the deep gravely voice that would reach into his heart and make it race. After watching Dean's life blood pool around him, Dixon knew whatever that terrible purpose was it wouldn't matter but as he pulled into the parking lot of a little inn off the highway he was resolved that this would be the day for answers.

The Mountain Inn was a cozy little two story white clapboard building not dissimilar from the Angel Inn. The only thing that kept the Inn from disappearing in the snow was the dark green trim. The Mountain Inn consisted of a comfortable little foyer, a restaurant to one side of the lobby a pub on the other, and a dozen rooms on the second floor. They pulled into the inn only a half hour after leaving the hospital and Dixon had Dean resting only minutes later. Dean flopped onto the bed exhausted by the effort it took to climb the stairs. He just wanted to sleep but Dixon wasn't having it.

"Dean, you're faster, stronger and more agile than any normal human being and you have the hearing and vision of a cat." Dixon said as he sat in a big overstuffed chair by Dean's bed, "Now you've healed in days from wounds that would have killed anyone else. Will you please trust me."

After a long painful silence Dean nodded, "I will after a little rest. Why don't you grab a shower and some lunch. You look almost as bad as I feel."

Dixon could see the exhaustion etched in the hunter's face and knew even if it was in him to push he would get nothing from Dean. Besides, he desperately wanted a shower and food Barbaru style.

* * *

Dean had doubts about the Barbaru being able to adjust to life on the road. Though Dixon never lost his congenial smile it was clear to Dean that he was not comfortable on this side of the fence but there was nothing to be done. People in plush suites and five star restaurants were remember and hunters had to blend into the woodwork. He did prove to be a very attentive student, always asking questions and making considerable effort to understand and master new skills. Well most of them. Dean couldn't blame him for not enjoying research. Few people liked it and in Dixon's case, being so removed from the human world made it much more difficult for him to identify the unusual. On the other hand Dean enjoyed watching a member of the rich and powerful reduced to doing the dirty work, not to mention having to take orders from white trash, but he made a concerted effort to hide this guilty pleasure from Dixon.

Laughing at someone was not conducive to forming an alliance and that was Dean's primary goal. Moreover Dean was enjoying having someone he could laugh with and have a beer and play darts with. Someone who wasn't brooding and always getting drunk or solemn and disapproving. Or someone he didn't have to look after and worry about twenty four seven who was frequently disapproving. Dixon let Dean be himself without question or judgement and his ready wit and dry sense of humour brought merriment to almost any occasion. Dean was making a friend and having fun.

Acknowledging Dixon as the more qualified hunter in the hills of Virginia seemed to go a long way to cementing their relationship. Dixon saw it as a show of trust but to Dean it was simple common sense. Dixon new goblins. From what the Barbaru described it seemed they were kissing cousins to trolls living underground and hunting children for food. They even looked alike. Where they differed was that trolls hunted every week and more and cooked their food while goblins only hunted once every six to eight weeks, took women as well as children and ate there victims, aged but raw. From the hunting perspective the difference to note was size and speed. With goblins being smaller but quicker catching it would be the issue.s

Dean saw the goblin hunt as a bonding moment in their relationship. The show of respect and trust by Dean brought down the last vestiges of Dixon' formality. Dixon's revelation about his sexual preferences, or rather his lack of a preference cast a shadow over the moment. Having already proved his mettle Dean could have ignored the disclosure, but accusing him of being bisexual threw him through a loop.

Dean never considered himself a bigoted person and that included homosexuality. He wasn't for or against it, he didn't care one way or another. Dean felt what consenting adults did in private was none of his business and thus never gave it a great deal of thought, yet he found being accused of any form of homosexuality offensive. Dean didn't know why he was so upset until while arguing the point with Dixon he found himself snarling that weakness wasn't tolerated in Winchester men.

Limp wrested, weak and timid fairies was a dieing stereotype of gay men but one his marine father held too. Dean couldn't remember a specific occasion when John used such language but he had made his feelings known. John's attitudes left their mark on him making him uncomfortable with Dixon.

The Barbaru was proving himself a good hunter and, though months had passed without any sighting of Meg, Dean still felt he had much to loose in severing their ties. He decided to chalk the accusation up to a simple misunderstanding by Dixon. He added gay stereotype to the list of things that John had taught him that he was trying to erase from his mind and slipped back into their routine with one exception. Dean began wearing sweets to bed.

In Mississippi Dixon proved a worthy substitute for Sam. After weeks of watching him pumping people for information Dean decided to put Dixon's superior interpersonal skills to the test. He explained at length what they needed to find out from the subjects then let Dixon take the initiative. With his prim and proper manner he played the part of the health and welfare inspector to perfection requiring little prompting from Dean. Using a gentle coxing manner Dixon drew copious amounts of information out of the victims families, not to mention doctors the medical examiner and the law. However he did prove a little nervous as Dean's lookout while they broke into several offices. Dixon admitted he was not alien to illegal activity but for his part it was usually of a white collar nature.

"Sneaky comes natural to people like us." Dean assured him, "All you need is practice."

Acquiring the psychiatric records of the suicide victims proved to be the most importation piece of information in identifying a gargoyle as the culprit. It also raised the question, 'How could doctors not see that half a dozen people having the same hallucination was suspicious.'

Seeing Dixon grow frustrated and angry while hunting the gargoyle was comforting. It was obvious how important self discipline was to Dixon and Dean had little doubt the Barbaru would not again so easily loose control but it was good to know those emotions exist. It made him more human.

Destroying the gargoyle was one to celebrate and after putting a few hundred miles between them and the once afflicted town they stopped at a pool hall to acquire funds to be followed by drinks and girls. Jake, the mark Dean had hustled for six hundred dollars caught him at the door expecting a quickie in the ally. Dean went cold inside and rebuked him roughly. Jake appeared completely taken aback by Dean's response to his suggestion and followed him outside to expressed his disappointment loudly and forcefully. To make matters worse two of Jake's buddies noticed how agitated their friend had become and came looking for him.

Dean was grateful Dixon didn't hit him with any I told you so's. In point of fact his partner was in his corner. While Dean was ready to knock heads Dixon started out trying to keep everyone calm (especially Dean) using phrases like 'unfortunate misunderstanding'. He stopped playing peace maker when the phrase 'You owe me.' was thrown out. Dixon unleashed with a few harsh words of his own and when the pool player proved unimpressed the Barbaru picked up the two hundred and fifty pound man and threw him into a wall while Dean took care of his two buddies.

On the brief ride back to the motel Dean occupied his mind by asking what bullocks meant and what a bloody git and a sodding wanker was pointing out that when Dixon lost it he 'turned totally British'. They kept up the laughter until the lights were turned out. Then it hit Dean like a ton of bricks. Being called a 'cock-teaser' had serious ramifications that made his head spin and his stomach. As long as it was only Dixon making the accusation Dean could ignore it, even laugh at it, but a stranger and two of his buddies made a world of difference.

Dean wished he stuck to the rougher bars where homosexuals didn't dare go much less be open about what they were but Dixon's suggestion that up scale bars had wealthier pigeons to pluck was worth a try and proved accurate. Earning hundreds of dollars off one mark left more time for cruising girls and general merrymaking. Who cared if the music sometimes sucked. Well Dean did but what the hell, the money was good and the girls really liked his bad boy image. He never expected this pit fall.

_ 'Do not fear who you are or what you will become for there is nothing in you to be ashamed of. ' _

Easy for you to say Dean thought. Despite his best efforts to unlearn some of the lessons taught by John, Dean couldn't help feeling that being gay in any way brought his virility into question. Though his success with women was no longer as important to his self esteem it was still an important part if who he was, once more it would impact on his father's and possibly Sam's opinion of him and that was terrifying.

When Dixon first began to tell his story Dean saw it as a distraction but when his intent became clear Dean didn't want to hear it. He wanted to shove the matter into the back of his mind and ignore it until it went away. After all denial was a coping mechanism Winchesters had refined to an art form. Why should he care about what a bunch of ancient Greeks did? But Dixon would not be silenced and he had one hell of a big finish. It slammed in the face of John's weakness issues and gave Dean food for thought. But later that very night while Dean tried to rid himself of troubling thoughts that pop into his head unbidden he stumbled across an argument against bisexuality. Dean had never felt sexually attracted to a man, to any man.

In the weeks that followed Dean began looking at men and asking the question, 'What if anything about him is sexy?' He graded them on a one to ten scale for physical appeal but was thinking in terms of competition not attraction. They simply didn't do it for him. His confidence in his heterosexual status began to grow until he noticed the groove of Dixon's mouth was rather prominent giving it a soft sweet curve and found himself thinking he could kiss that mouth. The moment the thought crossed his mind he was mortified. He tried to shrug it off on the grounds that Dixon's mouth was feminine and therefore it was acceptable to find it attractive but his powers of denial began to falter for which he held Dixon personally responsible. His efforts to express resentment of the man he had come to think of as friend and partner were at best weak and often amusing. It also resulted in his being thrown out a window.

'_Believe me, you are truly a man's man so stop being so provincial.' Dixon said with a self satisfied grin as he made himself comfortable in the princess bed._

_Though Dean appreciated Dixon's high opinion of his masculinity he didn't think the Barbaru should be so amused by his discomfort. It was a strange quark of fate that Dean's annoyance prompted the discovery of the seldom active spirit's trigger. As Dean lay on the ground below the window quickly growing tired and a little giddy he thought, he should have known a princess wouldn't like the word 'bitch'._

* * *

Dixon nodded his agreement and Dean closed his eyes and began to chant. Almost instantaneously Dean was by the lakes shore and watching gulls with Castiel standing beside him. Dean tried to feel the peace that always came from this scene but despite the inexplicable sense of normal he felt, he was far to anxious to relax.

"I am pleased you have recovered." Castiel greeted him.

"Me too, but how did I do it?" Dean responded, "Did any other Quradu come back from something like that?"

"I admit it is unprecedented." Castiel acknowledged.

"But is it possible or is something else going on here?" Dean pressed, growing agitated.

"I don't known." Castiel admitted.

"Can you find out if Michael or someone had a hand in it, maybe Zachariah?" Dean asked almost pleading, "I need to know what's happening to me."

"I will make inquiries."Castiel agreed.

"Very discretely." Dean cautioned, "We don't need anyone wondering why you'd suspect something like that.

"That would be undesirable." Castiel agreed then advised, "Feed your body with large amounts of protein and sugars to restore your energy. I will return when I have an answer."

"Thanks Cass." Dean said but Cass was already gone and the peaceful lake faded away.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Though it felt like he had closed his eyes only minutes ago the sun was beginning to set when Dean opened them to find Dixon sitting by the bed. If not for the clean cloths Dean would have thought he'd never moved. Dixon said nothing, only stared and waited.

"I don't know how I survived." Dean opened with the truth and added, "I don't mind admitting, I'm a little freaked."

Dixon's whole posture shifted from determined to concerned. His face softened, his eyes mellowed and he leaned forward placing a hand on Dean's arm.

"Is there anything you can tell me?" Dixon asked as he gently patted the arm, "Any suspicions or possibilities? Perhaps we can puzzle this out."

"You ever hear of the Quradu?" Dean asked and when Dixon nodded he pointed to his bag, "In my bag under a false bottom is my codex. Can you get it?"

"You're Quradu? Of course, I should have guessed." Dixon said with a big smile, "That explains everything. Are all hunters Quradu?"

"Fraid not. I'm the only one." Dean answered bringing Dixon up short, "Not just anybody can be. It's a curtain blood line."

"And your brother?" Dixon asked as he pulled the codex out of the bag.

"For reasons I can't go into training him right now would be dangerous." Dean admitted, "He doesn't want to be a hunter anyway." Dean took the book from Dixon and tried to read but closed his eyes, and handed it back, "Damn it, I'm still to tired. I need protein and sugar to build up my strength, lots of it. Here, Akkadian is a form of Sumerian. You might be able to read it. The section on healing is about a quarter way in."

"You understand Sumerian?" Dixon asked turning a little pink.

"Pretty much." Dean grinned not the least ashamed.

"Bleeding brat." Dixon muttered with a reluctant grin, "Do I have any secretes?"

"Not a lot. I know you're not human but I don't know what you are." Dean admitted, "Maseru Barbaru, guardian wolf," he translated "is a pretty big clue though. Dixon this trusting has to be two ways. I showed you mine now you show me yours."

Dixon went into lock down. He put the book down folded his hands on his lap and appeared to be looking at him but Dean could see his eyes weren't focused on him. Dixon's mind was spinning, calculating, weighing, measuring, assessing his next move. Dean knew he had asked a lot. Dean was exposing only himself to danger if he was trusting the wrong person but Dixon had many other lives to consider. Dean wondered if he even had the right to ask. Castiel had vouched for him and that should have been enough but secrets were a dangerous thing and Dean wanted to be rid of a few. Finely Dixon nodded, his decision made, he rose from his chair and took several steps away.

"Do you recall saying you didn't know if shape shifters were evil by nature or choice?" He asked, "I don't know about the ones that change into over people but we are a race of shape shifters that have never considered evil." He paused and grinned, "Well perhaps a few lean toward it just a little."

With that Dixon's arms began to elongate then his whole body reshaped itself and before Dean stood an enormous copper streaked, light brown wolf. Dean fought his way to his feet and slowly approached the wolf who's back reached Dean's waist and his head was higher than Dean's.

"Son of a bitch." Dean breathed, "This is amazing. Hey, what happened to your cloths?"

Dixon quickly shifted back and answered, "Natural materials shift with us however synthetics do not. We seem to absorb whatever we are wearing and turn them into fur however no matter what we wear our fur is the colour of our hair."

"Cool. Totally cool dude." Dean marvelled but began to wobble and crawled back into bed, "Dude do not show that to any other hunter including my dad. Most have an 'if it's supernatural it's evil and we kill it' attitude."

The hunter's reaction was better than Dixon had hoped, to good. Dean had proved under fire he was a master of self control. Behind the happy grin and dancing eyes, Dean could be planning to kill him as soon as he went to sleep. Dixon hoped and prayed Dean would ask question, show concern, something to indicate everything wasn't all bright and shiny. Complete and unquestioning acceptance simply wasn't normal behavior for any hunter least of all Dean. Maybe he was merely making himself comfortable and organizing his thoughts before beginning the interrogation. Yes, his eyes were particularly sharp and focused. He was lulling Dixon into a false sense of security before beginning his investigation. Dixon made himself comfortable in the chair by the bed prepared to answer all question and worry about having to face the council, another time.

Castiel had said the Barbaru could be trusted and Dixon was sincere but couldn't he have mentioned the shape shifter thing? Maseru Barbaru, Guardian Wolf, he had suspected something, perhaps wolf genes like the genetically engineered Max of 'Dark Angel', but never suspected he was a wolf. It opened a major can of worms. He could imagine the fall out if he introduced his new partner, the shape shifter, to his father. The Winchester style heated discussion could hospitalize anyone in the immediate vicinity. Hunters like Gordon and Kubrick would simply open fire. Dean could see nothing good coming out of this. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples trying to fend off the headache he knew was on it's way.

"I'll order food for you. Protein and sugars?" Dixon asked picking up the phone and Dean nodded, "The menu here is limited but the food is good. How about a couple of bacon cheese burgers and a plate of pastries?" and Dean nodded again.

When Dean finely opened his eyes he asked, "How much trouble will you be in for telling me you're a shape shifter?"

"Loads." Dixon answered in a word but Dean narrowed his eyes which meant not enough info, "It's happened in our history that we've revealed ourselves to humans but only in a time of great crisis and never without much deliberation by the council. To expose ourselves without cause and consideration is a crime."

"When you talk to your people remember, I speak Sumerian." Dean made an important point, "I already knew you weren't human and that it had something to do with wolves."

Yes that was true. As the sweeping implications of that statement tumbled through Dixon's mind his worries about the council began to shrink and his formal reserved manner faded away. Well able to focus on the here and now, he picked up the menu.

Funny Dixon thought how the hamburger seemed to be a staple on most menus including a few five star restaurants. The little Inn didn't have room service but it called up when the order was ready and made no objection to them eating in the room. In the meantime Dixon hunted and found the section in the codex on healing and with a little help from Dean began to read it. While Dean devoured his burger platters and the entire plate of pastries. Dixon continued to perused the codex struggling with the confusing dialect while Dean went through an extra large meat lovers with double cheese and a box of doughnuts. By the time Dean finely slowed down Dixon had come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to find anything Dean hadn't.

Dixon groaned in frustration as he lay the book on the bed then asked, "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"Nope, not that I'm complaining." Dean smirked, "Heaven is a total drag and Hell is well, hell."

Maintaining perfect composure Dixon took a wild shot in the dark and asked, "How many times have you been there?"

Unable to sense Dixon's feeling Dean had made a study of his moods and expressions. Dean always had a good sense of what cards the wolf was holding at least ninety percent of the time. This was one of the rare moments when he couldn't. Dean's poker instincts told him Dixon was bluffing. He knew nothing for a fact but he clearly knew there was something to know. Truth the oracle's voice screamed but this time Dean paused to argue. This wasn't Sam who needed to learn so much before it was to late or his father who had to be saved from himself. On the other hand powerful bonds could be formed between partners when one puts his life on the line. Dixon had placed an enormous amount of faith and trust in him before he even put foot inside the Impala. In very short order Dean had stopped looking over his shoulder even if he did began wearing sweets to bed.

"I remember dieing four times but I've been told I've died over a hundred times, and you." Dean answered.

Courage does not exist without fear. Sacrifice without loss simply isn't. Dixon had been feeling a lacking in his life but didn't know what it was until he joined this hunter on the road. Hunting had become relatively risk free. Oh yes he felt that rush that came with any form of hunt and the satisfaction of destroying a monster but there was an emptiness in him. He hadn't had to strive or struggle or give up anything in so long he had forgotten how it felt. Since he joined Dean on the road struggle and sacrifice had become his daily fair and victory was not always assured. It was not only the man he had come to value and respect but the passion and unpredictability he brought to Dixon's life. But did that give him the right to take such an enormous risk. Risk, that was the key. So little could be gained without risk and before him was not only a man but the world of spirits and demons which he dearly needed to gain.

"I have never died. We are very difficult to kill and very few of us have been? Dixon stepped out in faith, "How old are you, do you know? I mean your soul of course."

The truth fearlessly. Why did that oracle scream in his head every time he tried to dodge something? How did she program that phrase into him? It never bothered him when he was passing himself off as a cop, a reporter, or anything else. Would Dixon become a key figure in stopping the apocalypse? Dean desperately wished she would either fill him in on the plan or let him create his own. TRUTH TRUTH TRUTH, his head kept screaming but to be completely honest he wanted to trust Dixon, he needed to.

"I suppose it depends on how you measure time." Dean said then added the time he spent in hell to his thirty one years in the past life, then added the one in this time line and dared to answer, "I think I'm about seventy two but I'm not sure. How about you?"

After a brief thoughtful pause Dixon answered with a hopeful smile, "I was born before the rise of the Akkadian empire."

* * *

***There you have a big reveal, weeeeeeeeeeell, one of them. More surprises are yet to come and Sam will be returning to our story very shortly.**

****I am going to attempt one more chapter before leaving for holidays with my daughters at the end of July but I'm regret I can guarantee nothing.**


	27. Chapter 27  Revelations

**Please refer to previous chapter for disclaimer.**

**So sorry I didn't get this up last week. Although it practically wrote it's self, record high temperatures (Wednesday was a knew record for Ottawa at 47 % Celsius) and lacking central air I was more inclined to lie in front of a fan covered in a wet towel trying to breath, than I was interested in writing.**

* * *

**Chapter 27**

**Revelations**

Before the Akkadian empire, that had to be six thousand years. Dean danced the figure around in his head. He knew, up front, they weren't human not only because Cass told him but the things they said in Sumerian was very telling. But a six thousand year old wolf? How should he feel about that? Dean considered how it could impact on their working relationship and their friendship and found one change. He wouldn't have to worry about Dixon being killed since he was obviously so hard to kill. Other than that he really wasn't blown away by Dixon's change in status. Dixon maybe older than some demons he knew but was younger than Cass. Dean reasoned that if he could be friends with an Angel, even come to think of him as a brother then why couldn't his partner be a six thousand year old wolf. The only reason he could think of was his father won't be accepting and Sam might be shocked. Sam would swiftly shift to fascination but John would not. The thought of what his father might do or rather try to do sent shivers up Dean's spine but he pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind to be dealt with if and when necessary. On the other hand, what fascinated Dean was how someone could be so old and so naive. Well perhaps not so much naive as ill informed. Cass was separated from mankind living in heaven so it was understandable that he would have difficulty grasping some concepts considered basic by most, but what was Dixon's excuse? Dean thought of the grand manor with all it's endless luxuries which included two foot thick walls. Maybe that was his excuse. Suddenly a thought came to him.

"Did you actually see the battle of Thermopylae?" he asked and enjoyed the look of surprise on Dixon's face.

"In point of fact we were tracking the movements of the Persian army at the time." Dixon stammered. This was not the reaction he expected. "Are you not the lest concerned about what I have told you?"

"Oh dude you have to tell me about that battle." Dean grinned as images of the movie 'Three Hundred Spartans' danced in his head.

The 1962 version filmed in the Peloponnese not the remake. Dean had trouble coping with men in leather underwear.

"Dean." Dixon barked and pleaded at the same time.

Brought back to earth Dean offered his trademark smirk saying, "I've seen a hunter more blood thirsty and deranged than any monster and a nest of vampires that are eating cows. Wolves that hunt monsters? Not a big stretch and there's older things than you walking the earth, so what's the big?"

Dixon returned his grin seemingly happy that things were turning out so well but Dean could see the wheels spinning and knew there was something more.

"Dean I don't understand how you can be so accepting." Dixon admitted, his confusion in full display, "There must be something categorically different about you. We couldn't be completely wrong about hunters all these years."

"You're not completely wrong. There are hunters that would kill you just on principle. I know a few like that. There's one or two, better not give me an excuse to gank him." Dean confessed all humour gone from his eyes. He paused giving it some thought then added, "Okay so, I'm wishing Gordon would give me an excuse. With me well I've been through some shit, a lot of shit and I've learned from it. Hell I don't know how to explain me." he finished with a grumble then hopped out of bed, "I'm getting a shower. We have a body to burn." He paused at the bathroom door, "Hey you got to tell me what really happened at Thermopylae."

"Dean how is it you're seventy two years old?" Dixon called stopping him, "You told me you've died four times and I believe you. I can see it in you're eyes. How can this be true and you still be human? Are you reincarnated?"

Truth screamed in his head once more but this time Dean held it in check. There was a time and a place and some truths had to be served up in bite sized pieces for easier ingesting.

"Not exactly. It's complicated." He stalled.

"The trust must work both ways." Dixon repeated Dean's words back to him.

As Dean's face turned to stone Dixon knew something very intense and grave was being processed. He couldn't see why it was so difficult for Dean. His heart ached that after all he had done, all he had revealed, Dean would still hesitate. What more could he say or do.

"I've thrown my arms open wide for your dagger." Dixon exposed his heart.

Dean had to do something, give him something. Dixon had left himself completely open and vulnerable. For all Dean knew he could not only loose his position on the council but command of his Illutu. Hell for exposing them all to a hunter he could be facing a possible death sentence. There had to be some give and take, a show of faith but Dean didn't feel he had the right to entrust not only Sam's future but the future of the entire world on a gut feeling that this man could be trusted. It's not like he'd never been wrong before. What truth to he give instead?

"I've trusted, really trusted four people in the whole world." Dean answered fear seeping through his stone mask, "I've got two daggers in me from the two I killed for, gave up my life for, even went to hell for. Even though I've forgiven them, no matter how hard I try I can't forget how it felt. " Dean closed his eyes and fought back the nausea that rose up in him as he so exposed himself. His struggle for self control was noticed and respected with silence, "I just trusted you more than anyone, including them."

Dean closed the door behind him and rushed to the sink to splash water on his face and wash away the sense of shame that came with admitting to someone, anyone, that those he loved thought and cared so little for him and just as bad, that he didn't have the strength to get over it. The sinking sensation that came with such thoughts left him quickly. How could he waver and wallow in the face of Dixon's courage. Dean straightened his back and squared his shoulders only to come face to face with the bathroom mirror. He tried to focus on how the scares had faded from a raised glaring red mass to a lighter smooth network of marks. The concentrated effort calmed the rush of panic that always came with exposure but still in the back of his mind a voice whispered worthless damaged goods. At least it wasn't screaming at him. Now he really needed that shower.

* * *

Dixon stared at the closed door in stunned disbelief. Having learned something of how the hunter's mind worked he well knew it would be easier for Dean to expose his back to an enemy than his heart to a friend. He not only felt trusted but hopeful. There had to be strong feelings behind this show of faith, perhaps not as strong as his and certainly not acknowledged by Dean even to himself, but they were there.

Dixon needed to talk to someone about what he had done. He had just placed his head on a chopping block and desperately needed and ally. Fortunately the someone was just two doors down the hall. Someone **he** trusted explicitly. He went down to the restaurant, purchased a bottle of wine and knocked on Lena's door. He knew if he was to have Lena in his corner he would have to bring her around to his point of view very carefully. Considering her attitude toward Dean and her clinical mind set it would not be easy but then he had long since learned how to think as a politician.

In silence he sat and poured the wine then opened with, "Dean is in position of a codex of the Quradu. He's been using it as a training manual. In point of fact I think that's what it is."

"What!" Lena stammered in shock, "They were massacred by their own church. How could anything have survived?"

"Something always survives, Lena." Dixon explained, "I would venture that some of the Quradu survived. I'm sure not all were there when the fortress was attacked. I read some of his Codex, the section on self healing. Lena it's written in Akkadian."

"Akkadian? How old is the book?" She asked missing the point.

"It's hand written on lamb shin, using the Sumerian alphabet. Beautiful lettering if the illustrations are a little primitive." Dixon answered in a conversational manner, "It's at least one, probably two thousand years old." He paused and looked her in the eye, "Lena, think, Akkadian, it's a form of Sumerian. He understood every word we spoke. We have no secrets from him. Bloody brat, laughing at us all the while, no doubt."

"Almighty Father!" Lena exclaimed jumping to her feet, "A hunter knows what we are?"

She took a few careful steps about the room to regain her composure. She leaned against the Edwardian dresser in the overly decorated room sighed deeply and shook her head. The entire Illutu was at risk more over Dixon didn't seem the least worried. He was calmly sipping his wine a pleasant expression on his face.

"And he's completely indifferent." Dixon said with a grin and a shrug.

"You are not going to try and tell me hunters are our friends." Lena growled.

"'There are hunters that would shoot us on principle. I'm quoting Dean." Dixon replied with a sad grin.

Lena nodded, retook her seat and picked up her glass of wine. She began considering different options, ways and means of eliminating the threat. The primary problem with killing a hunter was the possibility that friends would come looking for his killer. He would have to be eliminated in a way that wouldn't raise suspicions.

"How are we going to deal with this threat?" She sighed again.

"He has always known we are not human and that we're some form of wolf." Dixon answered carefully, "I cleared up the mystery for him. He was rather impressed."

"I'm sorry you've …." Lena grew confused.

"When he showed me his Codex." Dixon laid out the facts, "I realized how much he really knew about us and we discussed what we did and didn't know about each other. It would seem he has more secrets than we do."

"Dixon you didn't ….."

"What? Try to deny what we spoke about right in front of him? Ducky, I have more respect for him than that." Dixon jumped in.

"Respect? Is that what you call it?" She accused.

"Yes." Dixon the Belu snapped, "He is strong, intelligent, and a fine teacher. His understanding of the supernatural is extensive and his tolerance of bigotry and ignorance far exceeds our own." He paused and gentled his manner, "I don't understand your attitude. Have you lost all faith in me. Do you truly believe I would make decisions based entirely on my personal agenda? After a millennia I would think you knew me better."

Lena bowed her head as she spoke, "You are right, I do know you better than that. It's him. He makes me irrational. He is so irreverent. He has no respect what so ever. I can't tolerate the boy."

"He's hardly a boy." Dixon returned with an amused grin and raised his hand for silence, "When I was a boy we were taught to hunt by eight or ten, it was a necessity of life and a part of our education. But at twelve or fourteen depending on our size we were instructed in the art of war. That was when childhood ended. Dean's ended when he was six. His entire life is like that of a Spartan and he can kill like one. Make no mistake. He is not a boy."

"Dixon didn't you describe him as playful, almost boyish?" Lena asked with an amused grin.

"When not hunting, absolutely." he admitted with a laugh, "He jokes, laughs and plays and teases in a child like manner but when working, when in danger, he is the consummate soldier. A soldier worthy of respect."

"He offers none. Why should he receive any?" Lena snapped lifting her nose.

"Who should he respect, a group of strangers who are so rude as to discuss him in a foreign language in front of him. Much of it very derogatory. He heard and understood every offensive remark made about him and human's. We treated him like a beggar who should be graveling for our approval and were disgusted when he didn't. Considering his reception by the council, I was impressed that he did not walk out of the room. What have we done that he should revere?"

Lena, trying to rally replied, "He should at least respect you."

"He does, he's proved it many times." Dixon returned with a worm smile then sighed. "He said he owned his partner an explanation and he gave me one.?"

"What was it, how did he survive?" Lean asked her medical mind taking center stage.

"He doesn't know. That's why I was reading his Codex." Dixon answered while watching Lena's eyes carefully, "He's concerned, not unhappy of course, but worried about what this might mean."

"I'm worried too." Lena said without indicating whether or not she believed Dean,

Lena needed time to process what she'd heard. She shook her head and rose to take a few purposeful steps around the room but before she could come to any conclusions a rap came at the door.

"Yes?" Lena called to the unwelcome intruder.

"We have work to do." Dean said through the door.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean really didn't want to bring Lena along but Dixon stressed his need for a supporting voice with the council and Dean gave in. She said silently in the back seat glaring at the back of his head. He wondered how Dixon could think she would back anything connected with him. He kept expecting her to start questioning everything he discussed with Dixon but she remained silent. A rather loud silence,

And she did keep silent even when Dean tossed her a shovel and said, start digging, while standing to the side a sawed off shot gun in his hand. He did offer Dixon a grin saying 'I'm taking this one kind of personal. I hope the bitch shows.' Lena found it a long uneventful and painfully quiet evening teaching her only about blisters and tedium until the first scrapping of the coffin. It was not the first time Lena had seen a spirit but it was the first time she'd seen how one was fought. The hallow eyed and pasty skinned woman appeared from nowhere shrieking her rage over her place of rest being defiled. 'You tried to kill me, bitch,' Dean returned with a cocky grin, 'This is pay back.' and he dispersed the howling apparition with a blast of his shotgun.

With each shot the enraged woman disappeared only to rematerialized a few moments later somewhere else, but always Dean seemed to know where she was. While he was reloading the spirit sent him soaring over several tombstones the shotgun flying out of his hands. Lena was surprised when Dixon seemed to ignore the situation, and continued to clear the dirt away then broke open the coffin and squirted lighter fluid over the bones. Lena took a moment to watch Dean bite open a shell and fling the salt at the apparition, giving him time to scramble to the shotgun and reload. Dixon barked at Lena 'Salt!' drawing her attention back to the grave. Moments later the bones were aflame and so was the spirit.

"Lena, I realize you're a doctor not a hunter but if you want to do this stuff, you can never loose your focus." Dean said in his even teacher manner.

"I was concerned about you." she replied defensively angry that she was being criticized for her concern for him.

"I appreciate that but the best way to help is to torch the bitch as fast as you can." Dean returned gently, "Now let's go grab a couple."

"Perhaps I should tend to your wounds." Lena suggested feeling better.

"Thanks but there's nothing a night's sleep won't cure." Dean replied, "It is totally Miller time. First round's on me."

Lena wasn't looking forward to watching a hunter get drunk as was their reputation and was relieved if a little surprised that she didn't half to. Watching him strut like a peacock after twice beating her in darts was acutely annoying but as Dixon said there was a child like quality about him that prevented true anger. She sat beside Dixon sipping a cocktail while Dean romanced a buxom redhead in Daisy Duke shorts and a ridiculously low cut, skin tight, t-shirt . She was melting within two minutes, a disappointment to Lena. The girl could have at least put up a semblance of resistance.

"What time do you expect him to crawl in tomorrow?" Lena asked with mild amusement.

"He's usually back by dawn and goes out for his morning workout." Dixon answered nonchalantly and ignored her stunned expression, "I've seen him while I was hunting. His speed and agility is amazing. He can't leap tall buildings in a single bound but he can jump over a ten foot stone barrier without pausing for a breath then dodge a tree on the other side without braking his step."

"I don't remember that in any report." Lena remarked as casually as she could.

"No I chose to remain silent until I knew what it meant." Dixon admitted without a hint of shame, "Now I know, the Quradu training."

"Dixon you can't …." She began.

"When did I stop being Belu?" Dixon demanded.

"When you let them call you Dixon." Dean crept up behind them.

Dixon couldn't help grinning at Lena's surprise but he knew Dean's scent anywhere. It was spicy with a hint of sweet rather like Dean himself. Even amid the pungent oaders of smoke, booze and sweating bodies, Dixon could track Dean's every move with his eyes closed. He turned on his stool and raised an eyebrow to his partner.

"When I talked to my father about personal stuff I called him dad but when he gave me instructions, told me to do something or anything like that it was 'Yes Sir.' and if I disagreed with him every sentence began and ended with Sir." Dean explained his statement, "Chain of command's gotta be maintained cause there'll always be someone who forgets who's in charge. It's got to be boss, leader, chief or however you're using Belu as soon as you say 'do'. Just my opinion." He finished with a shrug.

"You could be right." Dixon said with a mock scowl directed at Lena.

"Cool, look we need to be on the road tomorrow. A couple is disappearing in Indiana every year at this time. Could be a monster hunt or even a demon but it's more likely a pagan god. Then I'm going to see Sam, so you'll have some time to take care of business. I'll see you in the morning." Dean finished with a clap on Dixon's back, then offered his hand to Lena, "In case I don't see you in the morning, I'll thank you now for all your help."

Lena stared in silence for a minute before smiling and taking his hand, "You're quite welcome Mr. Winchester."

"Dean's fine with me." Dean said with a melt your heart smile, "When I have to establish chain of command I just bark 'now' or 'discussion over'. Works for me but then I'm not the leader of a clan or pack or whatever."

"Our Illutu are not clans in the strictest sense, perhaps a pack." Dixon acknowledged.

"Dean have you encountered a pagan god before?" Lena changed the subject.

"Yah why?"

"Because we thought they were extinct." she answered giving Dixon a quizzed look.

"Nope they've just gone into hiding. Look I can't keep my date waiting, tomorrow okay."

* * *

Ambushed was the only word to describe what happened to Dean when he stepped out of the washroom. He walked out bear foot and half dressed to find Dixon and Lena sipping tea and nibbling on bagels and cream cheese at the little table by the window. 'If that was coffee I'd call it a bribe.' he thought. As Dixon picked up a second pot from the tea service Dean inhaled smelling coffee and braced himself for whatever was coming. It did him little good. Dixon could always come up with a litany of perfectly good reasons why they should do whatever it was Dean didn't want to do and sometimes Dean even agreed with him. If Dixon felt the need to soften him up with expensive coffee and onion bagels this wasn't going to be one of those times. Dean let him have it for several reasons. He understood, Dixon was buying time, keeping the Illutu in the dark, until he could get there. They would expect a full report if Lena returned. Two, Dean didn't want to make any more enemies among the Barbaru than he already had, and as angry as she always seemed to be it appeared that she was undecided. Finely the job was time sensitive and Dean just wanted to get on the road with as little hassle as possible.

Having Lena in the back seat made for a long quiet ride to Burkittesville. It didn't help when she offered to drive and Dean answered 'No woman was driving his baby.' then proceeded to laugh about how that was the first time he ever got away with a woman driver joke in front of a woman. Dixon tried to smooth things over assuring her that he was one of only four people to have had the privilege of getting behind the wheel of Dean's 'baby' but she glared at the back of the hunter's head for several more hours before her full boil slowed to a quiet simmer.

Dean would have preferred the boil. The simmer produced complaint after complaint. The seats were uncomfortable, the care lacked air-conditioning, the engine was too noisy and how did she expect him to spend two days on the road doing nothing but reading journals. There was only so much criticism of his baby Dean would put up with. Dean hit the brakes squealing tires as he pulled of the road and turned hostile eyes on the doctor.

"I'm saying this only once so listen." He snarled at her, "You don't like me. That's okay cause I can't stand you holier-than-thou, dicks either. But if you don't stop dumping your attitude on me and my baby you're walking. Clear?"

Seeing the anger in Dixon's eyes directed at her, Lena knew who's side he was on and answered, "Very."

"Good. The area in Indiana that we're headed to is only fifteen hours away so read slow." Dean added a little more civilly.

"Yes I ….." Lena paused as she realized what he had said, "Are we driving straight through?"

"It's only fifteen hours." Dean replied as the began to pull back on the road.

"Why can't we fly?"

"Lena that is quite enough." Dixon snapped at her.

Dean stopped and glared but seeing she was confused he motioned her to follow him. He lead her to the trunk and opened it then lifted the lid the hidden compartment. An incredible assortment of weapons and ammunition lay before her sorted into compartments and stuck in sleeves in the lid. She had never seen a mobile weapons locker before.

"Now how do we get this through the medal detector?" Dean asked unruffled.

She looked to Dixon as he stood beside Dean his arms folded across his chest and knew he had no intention of helping her pull her foot out of her mouth. Though she had little experience in this area Lena did know when and how to affect a retreat.

"I asked a foolish question and have received a civil answer, thank you." She said and returned to her seat.

Before he pulled onto the road Dean and waited to see if Lena had anymore suggestion. She sat back in comfortable silence and began reading a journal so he pulled out. He then asked Dixon to run a check on the towns in the general area where the couples were disappearing, in search of anything out of the ordinary. He knew what Dixon would find, or hoped he would find it, and he was right. After a lengthy explanation of the agricultural and economic problems of the area Dixon pointed out that the little town of Burkittsville was the only one not suffering from hard times.

"There is no feasible reason why it should be flourishing." Dixon summed up his findings.

"Then that's where we're heading." Dean announced pleased that his protégé found the town so easily.

"The prosperous town is where the guilty are?" Lena inquired in a carefully respectful manner, "Why would that be if you don't mind me asking."

"No problem." Dean smiled into the rear view mirror, "When all the other towns are having crop failures and dieing this one is thriving, why? A man and woman, a couple are disappearing every year. Now that could be a few things but when you have all this prosperity surrounded by a lot of dead it's probably a fertility offering to a pagan god that's keeping the town alive."

"And you are certain there still are pagan gods?" Lena asked as she leaned over the back of the front seat skepticism all over her face.

"Why, did you think you hunted them to extinction?" Dean asked a strange mix of humour and irritation in his voice.

"I'm simply curious about your experience." Lena answered carefully.

"Another time sweetheart, we have work to do."

Lena watched Dean's grin grow as she bristled over being called sweetheart and decided to not give him the satisfaction of a response. She said not a word until they paid a visit to the orchard out side of Burkittesville. Dean had tried over and over again to recall the location of the sacred tree but found it impossible to visualize. He had a perfect image of the scarecrow and the surrounding area but it would seem he paid more attention to the pretty Emily than he did to where he was going as they walked to and from the tree. Confirming the scarecrow did not have a tattoo Dean looked up at it and could not help remarking once again, "Dude you are Fugly." The Barbaru were startled by it's vial appearance and were even more shocked when Dean asked what they expected from a scarecrow wearing human skin.

"Human skin?" Lena asked her face twisted in disgust.

"Can't you tell?" Dean asked thinking a doctor should have known.

"These people are completely barbaric." Dixon was equally repulsed.

"No argument here." Dean agreed then turned to Lena, "Hey Doc, how would you like to play?"

"Play?" Lena asked uncertain, but the pleased smile on Dixon's face suggested this was a good thing, "How do you mean?"

"Dixon, would you like to run this hunt?" Dean asked.

"I'm intrigued." Dixon perked up even more.

"You do the preliminaries." Dean suggested then asked. "So what are you going to do first.?"

Dean letting him lead hunting something he probably hadn't done before was an extraordinary show of faith and trust. Dixon used the long walk back to the Impala to think, to consider what he would do.

"It's probably something agricultural." Dixon began to think out loud, "Lena and I will get a history of the town, particularly where the original settlers came from. Then if we find no other possible explanations for these vanishings we will research the pagan gods of that part of the world. I will call research and have them fax us everything they have on the pagan gods of the area."

"Sounds good and what will I be doing?" Dean gave his approval.

Dixon hesitated a minute as he considered what the best use of this resource would be, "Something like this can not be happening without some people noticing something. You will take your intuitive eyes and wondrous lie detector about town in search of any clues and suss out our most likely suspects."

"Good plan." Dean agreed.

They checked into a comfortable travel inn with a swimming pool on the outskirts of town and held their first meeting in Dean and Dixon's room. He asked Dixon what his plan was to get information out of the locals. Dixon suggested interviewing people for an article in an agricultural magazine. Dean agreed that was good for him and Lean but what was his cover he asked pointing out they had checked in together. Dixon shrugged, a habit he picked up from Dean then offered, 'Researcher? Photographer?' Dean agreed he'd be a photographer doing a little back ground research.

Dean found a central location to park and everyone went to work. Already knowing who the guilty were Dean was free to chat up the sexy pump jockey at the gas station in the hopes of getting a tour of the orchard and being shown the tree to photograph. He did make a good impression but she wouldn't have any time off until the day after tomorrow. Dean grumbled all the way back to the car. A lot could happen in two days.

Time to pick up the wolves. In a gesture of friendship Dean asked Lena what she would like to pick up for supper and to return in kind she suggested a charming informal restaurant in the center of town that she was positive would not require a tie.

"We'll see if they do take out." Dean agreed.

"Take out? Can't we sit down and have a proper meal?" Lena complained.

"We're on the job sweetheart." Dean said to the review mirror, "We can't work in a restaurant."

Dixon turned see if Lena intended to argue but she wasn't inclined. She had spent the day at the town hall pulling information about the town from some of the most boring people Lena had ever met, then was off to the historical society for still more tedium and finely the library of records to finish the most monotonous tasks. She wanted to sit back and forget the most mind-numbing day of the century for at least an hour or two, preferably three. But this was a hunt and she was here to watch and learn.

"Burgers it is." Dean announced when they found the restaurant did not do take out, Lena slumped in the back with a pout so Dean asked, "Pizza?" but Dixon gave a slight shake of his head, "What?" Dean demanded.

"Chinese." Dixon named one of only two fast foods Lena ate. The other she hunted herself.

Dean groaned but said, "Fine." it wasn't his favourite take out meal but he could bend.

Lena watched surprised as Dean and Dixon began sticking on walls, pieces of information collected from about town as well as information faxed from the Illutu. As they did so they discussed and debated what each piece meant while shoveling food into themselves straight from the boxes paying little attention to what they were eating. Meals were supposed to be a time to relax and socialise while enjoying a culinary treat. What Lena was watching bore a striking resemblance to pigs at a trough. She quickly filled a plate with what she preferred before all the boxes were tainted with the men's used chopsticks or worse. Once comfortable with a hearty plate of her favourites she was able to sit back and watch the play unfold and her distaste turned to fascination. Dean and Dixon analyzed what looked like a senseless collage of unconnected bits and pieces yet they quickly came to the conclusion that the scarecrow was the effigy of a Norse god Vanir.

"Well then, who or what do we salt and burn?" Lena asked, "The scarecrow or someone in town. Surely not the entire town. Not everyone can be responsible for this."

"Probably not but there's a good chance most of the town knows something's going on. They would have been raised with it." Dean answered unsure of whether to be amused or offended by the suggestion of burning the whole town, "You salt and burn a spirit's remains, not people."

"I would have thought it was the god's effigy." Dixon agreed with one of Lena's suggestions but tapped a sheet on the wall, "But it mentions here something about a tree."

"I agree that's it." Dean said after giving the paper a quick look, "We have to find a sacred tree and torch it. It'll be in the orchard somewhere, protected and lovingly cared for."

"Marvellous." Dixon sighed.

"Yeh, peachy." Dean agreed.

"This is a problem?" Lena asked.

"Have you noticed there's a lot of orchard around here?" Dean answered.

"Couldn't we just ask someone?" she suggested.

"I highly doubt anyone would be particularly eager to discus the object they are honouring with human sacrifice." Dixon responded.

"No, I imagine not." Lena agreed.

"Look I'm going to drive through town. Make sure they haven't found anyone to feed to the tree then turn in for the night." Dean called a halt to the hunting for the day. You two kiddies play nice and don't stay up to late."

"Kiddies? Play nice? Really." Lena sniffed after Dean left.

"Don't take him so seriously." Dixon laughed at her.

Lena grinned indicating she really didn't. She rose to stretch her legs and took a closer look at the mural the men had created. It looked like a mess to her but it obviously meant something to them.

"I can't believe you spend an entire day before every hunt doing something like this." she shook her head and sighed in sympathy, "What an incredible ordeal."

"We have spent weeks doing this sort of thing." Dixon answered chuckling, "Why don't we share a bottle of wine and we'll talk about this."

Dixon and Lena retired to her room for an in-depth discussion of the demands of hunting human style. Lena had her doubts many Barbaru would be particularly eager to embrace this new method of doing the job. Dixon agreed, however he believed they would, for two simple reasons both centering around ego. One he was convinced they would not concede that human's could do something they could not and second they would not pass up an opportunity to hunt things like demon's and gods. They ended the evening with a wolf hunt. It was a test of her skills (these woods were not stalked with game) and the end result was no more than acceptable. A couple of ground hogs. Lena concluded that nothing in the human world was as easy or satisfying as it was behind the walls of an Illutu though she thoroughly enjoyed the swim before bed.

Lena wasn't any more thrilled with her day of sectioning off an apple orchard and strolling through it looking for a tree. 'It will be old and will probably have sigils carved into it.' Dean instructed. She suggested choosing a likely subject and beating out of them the location of said tree. Dixon grinned amused when Dean agreed they would, as a last resort.

Knowing Dean would press on through the day but Lena would need a break at noon Dixon called Dean on the cell and asked for a halt to the slow walk. It was well he did. The three hunters sat down to a fine meal at the restaurant Lena had suggested for dinner. They talked a little shop and of other things as well. Lena was beginning to think Dean wasn't quiet as overbearing as she had originally thought. When not talking about the hunt he did not dominate the conversation or impose his views. Come to think of it, for much of the drive he was very much give and take with Dixon. Perhaps her earlier negative opinion was prejudice. Suddenly his face seemed to freeze a minute then Dean smiled saying he was going to leave the two lovebirds alone for a minute and walked out. Now that was rude. Perhaps not prejudice?

"What was that?" Lena asked.

"I'm not sure. He's seen something." Dixon nonchalantly looked around the room trying to see what Dean had, "Couples, there are quite a few couples in the room." Dixon had noticed that himself, "He thinks he's found the next sacrificial couple."

"How? Who?" Lena asked fascinated.

"I'm not sure." Dixon admitted, "Let us see." He took a clandestine look at each couple in the dining room seeking what did not belong, what was different, until he found it, "The couple in the far corner. The don't seem to belong to this town."

"Why?" Lena asked eager to understand.

"I haven't seen a tattoo parlour in town." Dixon began, "While all the other patrons greetings and interactions are familiar and informal they seem reserved even taken aback by the extent of courtesy they are shown and it is inordinate. If they were native they would either be accustomed to this treatment or would be asking why, what's the catch. They are strangers here."

"The guy with the tattoo?" Dean asked as he retook his seat and when Dixon confirmed Dean grinned taking pride in his pupil, "You got it dude. They stopped for gas and their car suddenly developed a break problem. This 'on the house crap', it's their last supper. To night we stake out an orchard."

"Which one?" Lena asked excitedly.

With raised eyebrows Dean answered, "The one with the god in it."

"Of course, I apologise, I was a little excited." Lena said with a sheepish grin.

"You won't be for long."

After two hours sitting in a car hidden in the brush off the side of the road Lena wasn't excited anymore. She was so bored she tried to take a nap but finding the accommodations to uncomfortable she groaned and asked if they did this very often.

"Loads of times." Dixon sighed, "By this time we would normally be telling off colour jokes and rakish stories but your presence is cramping our style."

"Oh please forgive me, my Belu." Lena made a grand show, "How thoughtless of me to not see how I have been interfering. I'll take a walk to allow you your entertainment."

"I wouldn't." Dean warned as he chuckled, "You go into that orchard and you're the hunted not the hunter. He's out there looking for his offering."

Some time after dark the unsuspecting couple's car slowed by the orchard and chugged to a stop. As expected they got out of the car and began walking toward a shack with a tiny light which called to them promising help. The hunters were out of their car armed with weapons loaded with salt rock.

"It'll slow him down not stop him so you grab the civilians and get them the hell out of here while we cover your ass." Dean told Lena.

Being chased by a scarecrow was a new experience for Lena but it wasn't the hideous thing that frighten her. It was the scythe it carried that made her heart pound. The ways to kill a Barbaru were few but cutting off the head was one of them. By the time Dean fixed the couple's car and sent them on their way Lena was past her freight. Dean complimenting how she handled herself also helped send her to bed that night with a sense of accomplishment however the idea of burning the whole town to the ground was suddenly not as unappealing as it had been.

A good work out and a visit with Castiel always started the day off well for Dean. The Angel had nothing to report but he was the only one Dean could talk to openly and Cass was starting to sound a lot more like the old Cass even if he did still have that undying faith. Dean returned to the Inn in good humour ready to pick up Emily, burn the tree and head to Palo Alto for some long over due Sammy time. His eyes flicked over the shambles that was his motel room and grumbled in annoyance. How did some middle aged town folks take down a wolf? Make that two wolves. Lena's was empty and disturbed as well.

"They took my partner. They reeeeeaaaally shouldn't have left me behind. Now I'm pissed."

* * *

***I think Dean has made another friend and supporter in the Illutu but at the moment he is sorely missing Sam and so are we. Stay tuned for the return of Sammy.**

****The Akkadian words(which I am using for Sumerian A cheat I know but you forgive me don't you) **** Illutu and Belu have multiple meanings this when Dean tries to translate them into English he's uncertain of their proper use. **  


*****The spirit in the princess room has never been violent. In fact when she was record?d speaking to the TAPS investigation team it would appear that, though she heard them and was answering their questions, she could not see them.**

**TAPS - Princes can you hear us?**

**EVP - Hello is there someone there?  
**

**TAPS - Princes can you tell us if you're in this room? Give us a sign to let us know you're here?**

**EVP - Of course I'm here. Where are you?**


	28. Chapter 28 The calm

**I don't own 'Supernatural' but I'm happy to say season seven is almost here.**

**I know this update is a shamefully long time coming and I do apologize for the wait. Preparing special people for school can be time consuming and they must be my priority. I'm sure you understand, particularly if you're a parent. **

**September "It's the hap, happiest time of the year" and not only because the kids are going back to school. It's the count down to the season opener of 'Supernatural'. Let me lead you in a resounding "YEEHAW". I confess I was a big cowboy fan back in the day.**

* * *

**Chapter 28**

**The Calm**

The smell of blood in the room Dean shared with Dixon was strong and it's source easy to find. Though there wasn't any arterial spray splayed across the walls, or other such C.S.I. like signs of a great struggle, there was enough blood in the carpet to worry Dean. The stain patterns suggested more than one wound. It would have taken more than one bullet to stop Dixon. Dean stood still and let himself feel the rage that swelled within him, heating his skin and electrifying his every nerve until he shook with the need to act. This wasn't an old wound born of rejection or disapproval. It was immediate and justified and he was allowed to fill himself with it's potent, bitter, tonic. It made him feel like the worrier he had once been, hungry, fierce and powerful. Dean permitted himself several minutes of righteous rage then soaked ever ounce of heat from the room to relax him and quiet his mind. He would have to deal with this carefully if he was to rescue his partner without ending up on the FBI's most wonted list. The one thought he would not entertain was finding Dixon dead.

He was relieved to find less upheaval and a complete lack of blood in Lena's room. Dean surmised she had sense enough to not put up a struggle so she would be able to look after Dixon. After allowing himself to be revealed that Lena had not suffered the same fate as Dixon, Dean turned his attention to the body hiding in the closet. He took a moment to wonder if they thought he was a complete idiot or were they just clumsy and incompetent. He hoped they thought he was stupid because being underestimated always gave him an advantage while desperate amateurs tended to be irrational and hard to deal with. But anyone with so impressive a body count could hardly be amateurs.

Dean walked casually over to the sliding closet door and stood in font of it, out of the ambushers line of sight and waited. It was a game of nerves, one Dean knew he would win. It was only a matter of time before anyone hiding behind the door would have to find out where he went. If killing him was the plan a professional would simply shoot threw the door but Dean was reasonably sure they needed him alive to feed to the Viner. As he watched for the gun barrel to appear it occurred to Dean that a professional wouldn't have hidden in the closet even if he did think Dean was an idiot. He groaned, a double digit body count and they were still amateurs.

He waited and watched as the riffle barrel slowly began to inch out of the closet until there was enough protruding to give him a good hand hold. Only then did he step in, grab hold of the barrel and pull it out until he could get a firm hold of the stock. Dean then yanked harder pulling his attacker out of the closet. It all happened so fast that the sheriff's expression hadn't time to shift from startled to alarmed, but turned directly to pained when Dean jabbed the riffle butt into his mid section. The sheriff fell to his knees gagging and Dean gave him a little clip to the chin just to make sure he didn't try to stand up. Instead the sheriff fell over onto his back and lay there like a dead fish. Waiting for the sheriff to catch his breath and open his eyes Dean unhurriedly ejected the clip and cartridge from the riffle before discarding it in favor of his pistol.

Lying on his back after the boot to the chin the sheriff looked up into the austere but otherwise emotionless face of the young photographer. Armed, not your average photographer but he already knew that. The only reason they took three men to the Inn was because they expected the reporter and photographer to be together. He was damned glad the boy was an early riser. The Englishman would not come quiet charging the moment they burst into the room. The sheriff managed to get two shots off before being thrown into his nephew Greg and Scotty had to put three slugs in the Englishman's back to stop him. If they'd been together, well he didn't want to think about it. He hadn't expected to be caught in this room by the photographer and would have done nothing if the boy had left. But now he would have to keep the kid talking until the others returned.

"Do you realise what you've done?" The sheriff demanded, "I'm an officer of the law."

"Dude, you're a serial killer and you better pray my partner is alive." Dean answered with a warning, "If he's not, you're toast."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The sheriff answered with a growl, "I'm investigating a disturbance."

"Where's Dixon!" Dean demanded ignoring the sheriffs protests then added, "And his friend."

"I don't know. I'm trying to find out what happened here." The sheriff snarled.

Fresh out of patience Dean hauled the man to his knees and brought the side of his gun across the sheriff's face drawing blood. Startled the sheriff stared up at Dean as he clutched his damaged face.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded his voice filled with indignation, in a grand show of bravado,"You'll do time for that I guarantee it."

"Are you a complete moron or do you think I am?" Dean demanded in utter amazement, then sneered, "You feed people to a pagan god, you're a psycho murder so stow the rhetoric and tell me where my partner is?"

Though they didn't expect any trouble they staked out of the Inn the night of the sacrifice as a precautionary measure. (Something they always did when there was an abundance of strangers in town) They gave nary a passing thought to the photographer, who seemed more interested in flirting than taking pictures. When Greg, called reporting that all three had gone out to the orchard the sheriff drove out to see for himself. He cruised up one side of the road and down the other finding nothing and returned to town before the couple got there. He didn't want to be anywhere near the orchard when they arrived. Hours later when the screams never came he wished he'd taken a closer look. He took the time to study the face of his attacker and realized he wasn't dealing with a kid but a man. A man with very cold hard eyes. Dean grabbed the sheriff's shirt and jabbed his pistol in the alarmed man's temple applying pressure to make his point.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The sheriff snarled indignantly, trying to act like an innocent man, "Let me go now, before you make things any worse!"

"How long have you been feeding the Viner?" Dean demanded.

Why did people have to play this game Dean wondered on the verge of loosing his temper. He knows I know and knows I know that he knows I know but he still has to play innocent. It's all a big waste of time. Awe, yes, waste time, waiting for back up. Well fine, Dean thought, he could off them all right know and be perfectly justified.

"I …, don't…" The sheriff stammered panicked by the question.

Dean bent down and hissed in this ear, "Don't tell me you don't know who rescued that couple last night. You, Scotty, the Jorgeson's, the professor and I don't know who else are sending couples out to that orchard. That effigy is wearing your victim's skin. You got to know that. Do you have any idea what it's like to be skinned alive? Some day very soon, you will."

"I never killed anyone!" the sheriff argued in a guilty panic.

"So if a woman hires a hit man to kill her husband for his life insurance you arrest the shooter and let her go? She's guiltless?" Dean asked more than happy to play along, "If murder by pagan god could be prosecuted you and your bodies would be hailed as the most prolific serial killers on death row. How long, answer me!"

"Twenty two years." He finely confessed.

"You've sent at least fourty four people to the orchard." Dean said with a cold smile, "That beats out John Wayne Gacy by eleven."

"Don't compare me to that psycho!" The sheriff cried, "We're just doing our duty to this town not torturing innocent boys."

Dean pulled the man to his feet and stepped into his personal space shoving his stony face into the sheriff's. This was getting boring and the sheriff's buddies weren't showing.

"Those people you sent out there to be butchered were innocent." Dean said his tone frighteningly quiet, "Hunting evil is what I do, and in the eyes of most societies feeding unsuspecting passers by to a pagan god is evil."

"Killing a man isn't that easy, son." The sheriff tried another approach.

"I'm not your son." Dean snapped too quietly then allowed himself a hint of a smirk, "I've never had a problem, especially when that man shoots my partner." and with that he brought the pistol down on the back of the sheriff's head knocking him out cold, "Whoever's watching isn't coming in so, dude, you're just shit out of luck."

Dean quickly grabbed the sheriff's handcuffs and secured his prisoners hands behind his back then tied his feet, duck taped his mouth and finely rapped him in a blanket. He quickly packed his few things and grabbed Dixon's and Lena's personal positions. He didn't think it would be wise to have to return. Only then did Dean back the Impala to Lena's door and pop the trunk. After glancing around for potential witnesses Dean dumped the sheriff into the trunk and pulled out heading for the cellar in the orchard confident that the right people had seen him. When he arrived, Dean wasn't surprised to find the latch to the cellar broken but was startled when he opened it and found Lena and Dixon still there.

"Are you two going to be alright?" Dean called as he climbed down.

Towels and Lena's medical bag where a testament to the fact that she'd already been to the Inn and back. She was probably the one who tossed her room. Dean knelt beside his partner who's twitching face was bathed in perspiration. Dixon had a dressing on his chest and Lena was digging a bullet out of his abdomen. Dean took up a cloth and patted his partner's face and neck as Lena pulled out a piece of mettle and dressed a wound.

"Dude, you're a mess." Dean sighed.

"He'll heal faster when I've finished." Lena assured him.

"Son of a bitch Dix, next time just play dead." Dean cried as Lena rolled Dixon onto his side to attend to three more bullet holes, "What were you trying to do?"

"I tossed the sheriff into his young friend thinking they were the primary threat." Dixon groaned, "Who would have thought that bastard restaurateur could be so handy with a rifle."

"Dude, most of the men in a small town like this can handle a riffle and if they happen to be murderers, they'll be good at it." Dean said with a rye grin, then turned to Lena asking, "How soon can he be moved."

"I'm good to go now, if need be." Dixon answered for her.

"I'm not finished and you'll need a day's rest to fully heal." Lena insisted.

"He asked when I could move." Dixon snapped back.

"I just need you out of here so I can lock up the sheriff." Dean explained his question, "Scotty and whoever, will be here soon."

"The sheriff?" Lena asked as Dixon began to chuckle.

"Yah, I stuffed him in my trunk." Dean explained, "He started kicking half way here. I'd like to get him out before he knocks over the gas can and blows up my baby."

Dixon immediately crawled to his feet intent on climbing out amid cries of let us help from Lena. Dean told her to grab her stuff and threw an arm around the Dixon's waist practically carrying him up the rickety steps and began walking him into the orchard, but away from the scarecrow, to a cluster of trees that would hide them. He gently lowered his partner to the ground and spread his jacket out for Dixon to lie on telling Lena to finish ministering to him.

"You should be safe here." he said.

As he spoke something was tugging at his mind, something just a short distance away. It wasn't the person watching them, Dean knew where he was and what he was doing. It was something more, yet less definable. Castiel had said his natural talents would surface as he trained and of late Dean had become aware of a sixth sense. He could feel something coming. It wasn't like feeling the wendigo's hunger, which was a very physical experience, and it certainly wasn't a vision like Sam's. It was a sensation of danger or evil, a cloud in his mind that had shape and form yet lacked an identifiable image. There was an impression of time and distance and varying degrees of foreboding. Sometimes it was days away, sometimes only hours, neither time nor distance were precise. It was near or far, no more than that. The degree of threat could be measured and sometimes it's nature, but there was nothing specific. It was frustratingly vague most of the time, but on rare occasion he could measure the distance in feet and inches and count the minutes. They were coming but there was time.

Dean took a few minutes away from Dixon to attend his prisoner. The look in the sheriff's eyes, when Dean opened the truck, was murderous. Dean only smiled back as he freed the man's legs and dragged him out of the trunk then grabbed a screw driver. He was not the least gentle as he shoved his prisoner into the cellar and jammed the latch closed with the screw driver. The sheriff was still alive after shooting Dixon. Dean considered that more mercy than the man deserved.

With the sheriff in the cellar Dean stayed with Dixon as Lena dug out the remaining bullets and bandaged him up. He was all to aware of how unpleasant Dixon's ordeal was and winced internally with every manoeuvre of Lena's scalpel and forceps until the last bullet was removed and Dixon lay quiet.

"Stay here and rest for a couple of hours. As soon as the others arrive you can move to the Impala." Dean instructed, "I'll join you after I deal with them."

"What are you planning?" Dixon asked though he could well guess.

"They'll come armed and ready and I'm not going to surrender." Dean answered with a smirk.

"Can you tell me what they were trying to do?" Lena changed the subject.

"You two were supposed to stand in for the missing sacrifice but Dixon got shot up so they lay in wait for me." Dean explained surprised that she hadn't figured it out.

"I surmised that much but if we were reporters, people would have come looking for us." Lena raised a pertinent point, "Abducting us was a foolish risk I would not have expected them to take."

"They know we aren't." Dean explained, "Somebody probably spotted us coming back into town last night and put two and two together. When they tried to take Dixon I'm sure they took a good look at the wall. You two just relax, recoup and I'll deal with this."

Seeing his partner was in full soldier mode Dixon merely nodded but as soon as Dean was out of ear shot he told Lena to keep a watchful eye on him. Dixon closed his eyes and let himself heal. It was true, it would take him a day to fully recover but he had ample experience fighting with a few holes in him. Dixon fell into a light sleep, one he would awake from at the first sound of battle.

Dean tucked into a hiding place that gave him a clear view of the cellar to wait and again let himself feel how angry he was. He had once walked away from this town feeling there was nothing he could do and perhaps that was true then and still. But the question he asked the sheriff and his own response kept echoing in his mind.

"_How long have you been feeding the Viner?"_

"_Twenty two years."_

"_You've sent at least fourty four people to the orchard. That beats out John Wayne Gacy by eleven."_

If it had been a monster of some kind he would have killed it without a second thought but because the killers were human he and Sam walked away leaving them to pay for their crimes by loosing their town. No one accused John Wayne Gacy of being human or Ted Bundy or Wesley Allan Dodd for that matter. Did these people deserve to be let off the hook because they fed their victims to a god rather than cannibalizing them like Jeffery Dahmer or Albert Fish? From the victim's perspective the end result was the same. They were skinned and eaten. But the question that Dean kept coming back to was 'Do I have the right to be judge, jury and executioner simply because no one else can? It wasn't so much a question of legality or principle as one of spirit and soul. What would gunning down the towns people in the full knowledge that they couldn't stop him make him? Legally a murder yes, put morally? They gunned down an unarmed man who happened to be his partner! He wanted to do it, was determined to do it but Dean was afraid of losing his humanity.

The sun was low on the horizon when two cars stopped behind the Impala, but Dean still had not resolved his pressing philosophical dilemma. He listened to Dixon and Lena moving behind him heading toward the Impala as he'd asked them to then turned his full attention to the towns people. With Scotty in the lead they fanned out as they approached the cellar. With Scotty was the professor, the Jorgeson's and two other younger people and and there were two more in the car Dean couldn't see. Dean recognized one of the younger men coming toward him from the previous time line, but the other he hadn't seen before (Serial killers in training he speculated). Dean heard a few unimaginative expletives from Scotty as he climbed into the cellar and came out a few minutes later with a cursing sheriff.

"They must be close. Do we have time to find them? Can we please try?" Stacy Jorgeson begged her voice braking.

"They're here somewhere." the sheriff growled when he spotted the car, "We'd damned well better find them. We can be pretty sure the guy with the pony tail is dead but the other two are around."

"Are they crazy? Why the hell aren't they running for the state troupers." The professor asked.

"Are we sure they haven't?" Scotty asked.

"I've been watching that car all day and after it got here it never moved." one of the young lads answered.

"Be careful of the kid, he can handle himself." the sheriff warned then took a moment to look at the setting sun, "If we can't find them we have no sacrifice. Damn it we're running out of time."

"We brought a couple with us." the other young lad answered.

The sheriff looked over at the cars. They were too far away for him to recognise who was sitting in the back seat. The one thing he knew for a fact was they weren't strangers. His father had told him that in his day they twice had to select someone from the town and how painful it had been. With the amount of traffic still passing through the sheriff never thought that would happen to him. It would always be strangers, that would remain forever a dark shadow in the back of his mind. This wouldn't be so easy.

"We'd better bring them out." The sheriff forced himself to say, then was horror struck when Stacy began to cry.

Dean watched as the townspeople brought Emily and a young lad he hadn't seen before to the clearing and tied them each to a tree. The boy couldn't have been much more that eighteen years old. Just a kid, Dean thought, they were resorting to sacrificing children. He listened to Stacy and Harley's speech about how they had no choice, that it was their responsibility to save the town, and was no more impressed by the sanctimonious discourse than he had been the first time.

"… That's what sacrifice means. Giving up something you love for the common good." Emily said as she stroked her nieces cheek, "The town needs to be saved. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one."

"You're crazy." snarled the young man tied to the tree beside Emily, "Don't you think my dad'll notice I'm gone."

"I doubt he sobers up long enough to notice you're there." Scotty answered without malice, "Sorry Tommy. This isn't personal. It's just something that has to be done."

Not wanting any gun play too near the 'offerings' Dean waited until everyone was a few feet away from the sacrifices. All but one had begun to fan out walking away from him and into the orchard. One of the young men, not even thirty was going to pass no more than a few feet from his position. Though they were still uncomfortably close to Emily and Tommy he had to act before he was vulnerable.

"Don't anybody move." Dean ordered coming to his feet and aiming in their general direction, while staying half hidden by the tree, "Sheriff, I can put one between your eyes and I'll sleep just fine tonight. Hell I'd enjoy it so don't give me an excuse."

There's one in every crowd and it happened to be the one closest to Dean. He jumped putting himself behind a tree but was foolish enough to stick his head out to aim. He managed a shot but Dean put one right between his eyes. A flurry of activity erupted as Scotty took two shots at Dean while the Sheriff, the professor and the other younger man ducked behind a tree and began to fire. Stacy and Harley seemed to freeze, hiding behind a tree a further distance away. One less riffle to contend with, for the moment.

Dean didn't hesitate to drop Scotty, (who had put three bullets in Dixon's back), with a shot to the chest. A bullet creased Dean's arm, the only part of his body that was exposed, so he shifted his aim to fire at the sheriff but a big blast that came from the professor's double barrel shot gun sent slivers from the tree into Dean's face. The professor had completely exposed himself. Even with his eyes watering Dean couldn't and didn't miss the older man. But where did the sheriff go? A wolf howled and a man screamed.

"Didn't I tell you to go to the car." Dean called out without anger as he glimpsed the brown and copper coloured wolf.

Dean shouldn't have allowed himself to be distracted but as he glanced at the strange dance of the wolf a short distance away the nameless man moved in closer. Dean knew he'd moved but not where. He focused all his senses on finding the one remaining threat. Both Dixon and Lena were in wolf form making it easy to tell the difference between the Barbaru's foot steps and the man's, and the smell of frightened men was very distinctive. Sound smell and that strange almost physical sensation came together to form a virtually visual image of the last remaining town's person. Dean stood his back to the tree and waited for the crunch of leaves and twigs to his left then scooted to the right keeping his body behind the tree. The man was light footed and quick coming around in a arch flanking Dean. Not finding Dean where he expected the man stepped out a little further exposing himself and Dean took his shot.

As he fired Dean sensed something coming up behind him. It wasn't a new, sixth sense but an old familiar itch in his back. He swung around to deal with the threat in time to see a rust coloured wolf pounce on Harley Jorgeson. She stood over him teeth bared snarling one huge paw on his chest as if waiting for the kill order. Dean snatched up Harley's rifle before smiling at Lena and asking her to let him up.

"Could you go help Dixon free the sacrifices?" He asked rather than ordered, "Dixon the sacrifices, please." he called out.

"What …. What…." Harley stammered wide eyed with terror.

"Friends of mine." Dean answered, "Up, come on, move."

Dean found Dixon and Lena in human form, as requested, freeing Emily and Tommy from the trees while Stacy tears streaming down her face ran from body to body checking for signs of life. Dean couldn't fathom how she could leave her own niece to die horribly yet blubber over the loss of her cohorts in crime.

She looked up at Dean her chin trembling and choked, "You killed them all." She looked over at the professor, "He was just an old man."

"An old man who was shooting at me." Dean snapped without sympathy, "An old man who was as much a part of the killings as the rest of you. How many people have you sent out here?" when no answer came he barked in his most commanding tone, "How many years have you been doing this?"

"Twenty six." Stacy choked.

"I don't understand how you could do this." Emily cried and added with disgust, "For the common good? What exactly is the common good?"

"It's an excuse they use to kill a couple of strangers every year to keep them all fat and prosperous." Dean replied then muttered, "Fifty two, eight more than the sheriff and nineteen more than Gacy. I really should gank them both."

"The fact that they would sacrifice their own blood illustrates how corrupt they truly are." Dixon added, then put a comforting hand on Emily's shoulder.

It erupted in Dean as if from no where, a hungry menace suddenly filling the orchard. He looked over at the pole to find the scarecrow gone. Damn the sun had set and he barely noticed.

"It's hunting, get them out of here!" Dean barked.

Lena remembering the run of the previous night shouted at Dixon, "Carry her."

Dixon scooped Emily up in his arms while Lena and Dean grabbed Tommy between them lifting him off his feet as they ran. Lena was glad to find that Dixon was right. She would have to shift to out run Dean. Their run was quickly brought to an end when they heard Stacy's horrified scream.

With Emily still in his arms Dixon turned to Dean and said, "I hope you'll forgive me if I find that poetic justice."

"Hell man, I agree." Dean replied and let go of Tommy, "It's got it's sacrifice but let's not hang around."

"You're crazy, you're all crazy." Tommy exclaimed and stomped off toward the highway, "Where the hell are those giant wolves. Are they going to come after us?"

"No they're gone, you have nothing to worry about." Dean answered quite calmly.

"Are we going to just let him walk off." Lena asked in a whisper, "Isn't he a threat to us?"

Dixon put Emily down and shrugged his shoulders. He suspected Dean wasn't finished with the boy and wanted to see how he handled it. Tommy was about to take Scotty's car when Dean stopped him.

"You take that and you'll have to admit you were here." Dean cautioned Tommy, "Do you really want to try to explain that mess to the state troupers? Think about it. How would it sound? 'The sheriff and his friends were going to leave me to be killed by a scarecrow god but some strangers with giant wolves, showed up and saved me.' Dude you'd be the prime suspect."

"So what am I supposed do?" Tommy asked conceding the point.

"We drop you in town and if anybody asks what you know about this you say nothing." Dean answered, "How would you know you weren't out here? You don't even run in their circles. Hell they won't ask. Or you could try the truth and see how far that gets you."

"Could you drop me where I could buy some beer." Tommy asked.

The sympathetic hunters obliged the boy then drove Emily back to her house. As returning to their rooms was out of the question Emily invited them to stay with her. She watched as the doctor stitched up Dean's arm and listened to them discuss how they would have to find the sacred tree and get out of town fast. She was slightly perturbed that the doctor had no difficulty sleeping in a bed who's owners were being devoured at that very moment. Emily thought they were the strangest people she had ever met. So sympathetic to the intended victims while completely indifferent to the lives they ended themselves. Waking up to a big breakfast of eggs, bacon and home fries made by Dean cemented the verdict. Beyond strange.

She went with them to find the tree. The corpses were a horrifying sight, lying on the ground swelling and turning blue. As she watched the two men and the doctor gathered up the bodies and dumped them in the cellar. Her aunt and uncle were distressingly unaccounted for and she began to wonder. 'You are bad ass.' Dean laughed jarring Emily from her horrible imaginings. The two hunters ran off and returned hauling the mangled remains of the Sheriff and dumped his body in the cellar as well. They then added half a bag of rock salt and gas and lit it. The putrid stench almost made poor Emily vomit and she was glad when Lena suggested they find the sacred tree. As they had already searched much of the orchard finding it did not take long. Emily asked for and was given the privilege of igniting the fire. They could take no time to watch their handiwork as such great fires tended to attract attention. Emily hurried back to the road hoping and praying the entire orchard would go up in flames. She left town knowing that she would probably spend the rest of her life trying to forget Burkittsville ever existed but doubted she ever would.

* * *

'If they're still around when I leave California I'll chat them up or whatever.' wasn't accepting Dixon's invitation to speak at the Nisutu meeting in Los Vegas. It was an 'if', and as Sam's birthday wasn't until May the Barbaru who were gathering right now would be long gone when Dean arrived. He would admit it was mean and cowardly not to flatly refuse possibly giving Dixon hope but then the research team must have found out when Sam's birthday was so he really shouldn't have any hope. Dean looked in the rear-view mirror and muttered 'wuss' before calling Sam.

After the call Dean put the peddle down to reach Palo Alto as soon as possible. He could have set a leisurely pace, but Sam spoke with a strained, control, voice punctuated with huffing pauses that warned Dean his brother was in trouble. Sam wouldn't talk over the telephone which told Dean, whatever the problem it was damned serious.

He had called Sam first thing in the morning and made it to Palo Alto (normally a thirty hour drive) in time for breakfast the next day. Sam greeted him with a smile and warm embrace and chatted merrily laughing about his early arrival. He pointed out how Dean was going to have to socialize with his friends till May 2nd and laughed boisterously at the look of horror on his brother's face.

Dean did the hello thing and traditional joke or two which was expected, but as soon as he had an opening he asked what the trouble was. To his amazement Sam insisted he was fine and suggested they go out for breakfast.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sam?" Dean asked with a frown.

"What?" Sam asked momentarily taken aback.

"You know the ridiculously tall guy, looks like you but doesn't sound like you?" Dean pushed.

"Dean." Sam whined uncomfortably.

"My brother likes to talk about feelings, always doing the unburden your soul thing." Dean said with a sad smile, "Sammy, what's up with you?"

"Please, can we just go for breakfast and catch up?" Sam pleaded.

There was a disturbing desperation in Sam's eyes that worried Dean. Silence was so unlike Sam that Dean was not prepared to charge in like a bull and demand explanations. Besides that would have been giving him the 'little brother' treatment that Sam found so hard to deal with and Dean didn't want to risk pushing him away. He pasted an easy friendly smile on his face and said breakfast would be great, if Sam was buying.

He let Sam ramble on about nothing important holding on to his temper and patience like he was trying to weasel information out of a police detective. After two hours at breakfast Dean was beginning to think he would have preferred a cop. He would have been more successful in getting where he wonted to go. Still he smiled offered his input and made a few jokes and waited. He suffered through a painfully perky ride back to the house and sat down to a cup of coffee and more of the same. After four hours of idle chatter Sam ran out of things to talk about and he couldn't come up with any more 'How is this going?' questions. He slid into a heavy silence staring long faced at his coffee mug. Dean wanted to yell at Sam for putting him through this ordeal and, at the same time, cheer that it was finely over, but this wasn't about him. Instead he fished a bottle of Jack Daniels from the bottom of his duffel bag and poured them both a drink.

"You got to be kidding." said Sam looking at the clock and at the drink with disgust.

"After hours of babbling I don't think you're going to just come across with the problem without help." Dean replied, "You need some loosing up and I need an anaesthetic." he tossed the drink down then eyed his brother, poured himself another drink and waited, but Sam remained silent, "Hit me with whatever has you so twisted while I'm braced."

"This attitude doesn't exactly inspire the worm fuzzies." Sam complained with a sour face.

"I listened to you with a smile on my face, even took part in your babbling for four hours. FOUR HOURS dude." He emphasized with force rather than volume, "Me not pushing, Sammy. ME? Why aren't you calling 'Ripley's Believe It Or Not'?"

"Not funny Dean." Sam complained though part of him wanted to laugh for Dean certainly had a point.

"It's a little funny." Dean smirked and waited but when Sam remained silent he pushed as gently as he knew how, "Dude, I know you, hell I practically raise you. I know when something's got you twisted inside and I know you want to talk about it. You always want to talk about everything. So what the hell is going on with you little brother?"

Sam desperately wanted to tell his big brother what was tearing him apart. They could discuss every possibility, do research like it was a job, finely coming to a conclusion and a solution. He would have liked to have John's twenty years of experience on this but that was impossible and Dean was proving to be one hell of a hunter. They could do it, the two of them. There were just two problems with that plan. First, Sam had enough experience to know that there wasn't always a solution and two; talking about it would make it real. As long as he held it inside Sam could pretend it wasn't there, for just a little while longer. But having his big brother sitting there, staring at him, problem two was already nullified. Dean made it real.

"You know you're right." Sam slipped into Winchester mode, which was a mixture of denial of the pain and bluster, "I think I will call 'Ripley's Believe It Or Not'."

Sam watched Dean's face soften without loosing that aged look that usually came with time and experience at age fifty five. He had shifted into big brother mode. There was no avoiding it now.

"The closer we get to summer the more I worry. I'm driving myself crazy. I've even started to have nightmares." Sam began slowly, hesitating every few words.

"What kind of nightmare, describe it." Dean asked his eyes flashing.

"Not it Dean, them." Sam confessed, "Sometimes I dream that I hear her screaming and I run into her room and she's in flames…."

"Like mom, on the ceiling?" Dean asked ever so quietly.

His voice was soft and gentle and his eyes betrayed nothing but a stillness came over him like the calm before the storm or was it the predator about to pounce. No one else would have seen any change in Dean's manner or appearance but just as Dean knew him, Sam knew Dean. He was alarmed and now so was Sam. He knew something he wasn't saying and Sam wanted to demand an explanation but experience helped Sam hold his tongue. Having Dean fly into a rage would serve no one.

"Sometimes." Sam answered watching him carefully, "Sometimes I dream that I wake up in bed and find her at the foot of my bed on fire. Sometimes I dream she's a ghost haunting me."

As he spoke Dean's calm grew quiet and easy and Sam was almost disappointed. If the dreams meant something they might have a starting place, a platform to launch a plan of action but alas. Sam's shoulders slumped a little more and with a deep breath he tossed back the golden liquid and let it burn. It didn't help but what else could he do at that moment. Only one thing, talk.

"I keep thinking my being here will bring the demons, that I should take off and draw their fire as far from Jessica as possible but if I leave I can't protect her." Sam let it all pour out, "But the more I think the more confused I get cause all I can think about is she could die because I love her. I want to run but I'm afraid it's already to late and I keep kicking myself for not taking off with you last year but maybe it was already to late even then, cause that demon in Brady already knew how I felt but ….."

"Sam? Sam? Sam!" Dean grabbed his hands stopping his brother's wandering thoughts, "What do you want, Sam? Reassurance, a plan, hope, what?"

Sam saw it in Dean's eyes. The truth was there and he wanted to scream at Dean for not telling him. For giving him hope. He wanted to blame Dean for what was about to happen. Wasn't that what dad always did? Blame Dean for every bad thing that ever happened to his little brpther, that happened period? But he wasn't dad and it wasn't Dean's fault. There was only one thing to do at a time like this. Take advantage of the fact that he had a big brother who would always be there for him.

"Lie to me." Sam choked unwilling to have his worst fears put into words destroying any possibility of continuing to lie to himself.

"Come November we'll build a wall around Jess no demon will be able to penetrate. When it tries, we'll kill the son of a bitch and this will all be over." Dean said forcing as much sincerity into his face and voice as he could manage, "Then in the spring after you two have made up, you'll propose to her. I'll be your best man at the wedding and I'll look so great in my tux everyone will wonder why that totally hot bride is marrying the geeky brother."

Only Dean would try to make him laugh at a time like this and he succeeded …, for about sixty second. The unexpected emotional release was the opening of the floodgate. Every pain every fear, came pouring out in shattering sobs. Sam jumped to his feet looking round insure of what he wanted to do at that moment. Perhaps escape from the inescapable or maybe he could fly around the world so fast he turned back time and and leave school with Dean never going on the trip to Mexico. Or just to curl up in a dark hole and drown himself in his tears freeing Jessica from this curse. But all he could do was accept Dean's sudden, unexpected embrace ..., and cry.

Dean never told Sam he was to old to cry. When something hurt too much Sam let his feelings show and Dean would put a comforting arm around him and tell him everything was going to be alright. And when he was young he believed Dean could make anything alright. But the day had to come when Sam stepped away from his brother and faced his pain on his own. No one told him when or why it had to be done, it was simply a part of the growing process and Dean seemed to understand.

Years later the clock spun backward and Sam collapsed into his big brother's arms sobbing into his shoulder. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and wept till his legs could no longer hold him and they sunk to the floor. Dean never let go but rocked him letting the months of fear and sorrow pour over him into his shirt and into his heart. Watching his brother suffer was always a difficult thing for Dean and the burden of guilt for the part he played in creating this situation added to the growing ache in his chest. Rather than helping his little brother, he stole all the happiness Sam had with Jessica. If nothing else Sam had that to hold onto before and now he had a year of painful waiting. But this was not about him, it was about Sam's suffering so Dean swallowed hard and turned all his attention to the one that mattered. He stroked his little brother's arm or back and made gentle shushing noises in a feeble attempt to sooth a pain that could not be eased. He would not move or let go as long as Sam need him to.

Sam had no idea how long they sat on the floor until Dean warned him that someone was walking up the front steps. He jumped to his feet and splashed cold water on his face bathing his eyes to rid them of the tell tale red. The last thing he wanted to do was explain something like this. True he and Dean could come up with a lie on the spur of the moment that would convince them of … well almost anything but it would be horribly embarrassing. Sam greeted his friends with a warm smile as if nothing was wrong but cold water couldn't work miracles.

Dean tried to fade into the kitchen walls to avoid all the awkward that followed the arrival of Brady, Billy and Laura. They weren't his friends so he shouldn't be trying to deal with them and he didn't know what to say anyway. He probably would have said the wrong thing that would have made Sam angry then heaven knows how much emotional control the kid would have. Or worse, they would start to argue and he would blow up over something that happened April 2nd 1993 that he didn't even remember until that moment. No, this was one time when spin doctor Dean would keep his mouth shut.

"Hey where's, Jess?" Brady asked getting Dean's attention.

"Jess?" Sam asked hiding his surprise.

"She said me she would be here in an hour but that was at nine." Laura explained, "She should have been here hours ago."

"Didn't she have a class?" Sam hoped it was all a mistake.

"No it was just one of Trapani's long winded filler lectures." Brady said with a grimace and a shrug, "She blew it off to come and corner you and Dean about something.

As Sam's face turned painfully white Dean wanted to escape, to his happy place.

* * *

"**This can only end in tears." Bartok.**

***I am so mean.  
**

****In 'Supernatural Wiki' I read ****that the orchard scenes in "Scarecrow" were filmed in a hazelnut grove. Hazelnut trees bare no resemblance to apple trees. When there are three apple orchards in Victoria alone one has to wonder why. Don't they know what sticklers for detail the rabid fans are? They couldn't have possibly thought no one would know the difference.**


	29. Chapter 29 Barometer Risong

**I borrowed the Winchester boys again but they're not mine so I couldn't keep them.**

**This has been a difficult chapter to write. Though life and responsibilities prayed on my time, primarily it was the subject of the chapter itself that caused the delays. When exploring something like this it is difficult to know when to delve deep into the heart of the matter and when to pull back and be gentle. Forgive me if this does not live up to your expectations. **

* * *

**Chapter 29**

**Barometer Rising**

The house residents went looking for Jessica, in the study, in the bedroom, etc. but Dean knew she wasn't in the house. He'd have known. If she made it safely home there was only one option, the yard. Sam saw Dean glance at the hall then head out the back door and followed him. On an old plastic side table sitting between two folding chairs sat a half empty glass of iced tea confirming that she'd been there but where did she go and why? What could have happened to her? Though his mind refused to accept the possibility fear gripped his chest and seized his heart. 'It can't be now, Dean said! Not when I wasn't even looking?'

"Sammy, if she took off in a panic, where would she go?" Dean asked but Sam only stared his eyes glazed with horror, "A bar, a church, the beach, where?"

"A panic?" For a moment Sam's mind spun as the implications of the question came to him but years of dealing with crisis snapped him from it and he exclaimed, "The duck pond!"

"I'll cruse this area in case she's on her way back." Dean told Sam then muttered shaking his head, "The duck pond is her safe place? Normal people are so weird."

East Palo Alto was a largely depressed area providing inexpensive housing much preferred by university students. The close proximity of the Bayshore FWY overpass in Belle Haven, (the only means for anyone on foot or riding a bike to cross the freeway which separated them from Stanford) made the location ideal for this household of bike riders. The disadvantage at this moment was the duck pond was over two miles away. Sam only used his car for shopping, special outings, Dean's finances and traveling out of town. He didn't even think of using it.

As the crow flies would cut the trip in half. Sam burst threw the yard gate at a full sprint jumping fences like an Olympic track and field runner. Though the moment of panic was passed his fear for Jessica was still high. Sam didn't feel the slightest strain until he came to a stop at the pond, wondering how he got there. He knew her favourite place to sit and watch the ducks swimming around the children's boats and almost collapsed with relief when he found her sitting cross legged at the edge of the pond.

"Jess?" He whispered her name but she did not respond, "Jess?" he croaked a little louder but still she remained silent.

He gently touched her shoulder quietly saying her name one more time and she flinched. Sam hesitated a moment wondering if he should press her right now. Was his presences causing her pain? But running away wouldn't help either of them. He sat down beside her as close as he dared and for the first time saw Jessica's face. It was red, blotchy and tear stained. Unable to find any words that could possibly comfort her Sam simply offered her a pocket sized package of tissues. When she didn't reach for it he let it drop to her lap. She was deep inside herself trying to process what she had heard. Never had Sam felt so helpless.

Something inside Sam broke and he began to tremble from his nose to his toes. He had struggled so hard to shield her from this nightmare and never in his life had he failed so miserably. He ran from the live to escape the fear and pain but instead he brought it to the person he loved most in the world. At this moment he desperately wanted to give Jessica her normal back. He wanted to prostrate himself at her feet and beg forgiveness for having taken it from her or perhaps bury his head in her lap and vow to never let anything touch her. Could he keep that vow? Would it mean anything to her? Did she already know he may be unable to save her? Sam reached inside himself for the strength and calm he would need to see the woman he loved through this trial. His trembling hands grew steady and the lump in his throat dissolved. Time to man up, Sam, he told himself and did.

Taking his queue from Dean, Sam asked, "What do you need from me Jess? Just tell me and you'll have it."

Slowly her head turned to him and she said in a quivering voice, "Tell me I'm not going to die."

After an imperceptible pause he answered, "Not if I can help it."

"Can you help it?" Jessica whispered.

Sam had run as far and fast as he could to escape the harsh and brawling warrior life his father had tried to imposed on him. His dread of this life had even created a rift between him and the brother he had once looked up to as a hero and wanted to emulate. He recently realized the childhood images of who his mighty worrier brother had been were not quit so far off the mark. Dean was noble and Sam wondered if he could be too. He wished he was a warrior, a mighty knight in shinny armour. He wanted to scoop his fair lady up in his arms, jump on his noble white stead and carry her off to his castle slaying all dragons in their path. Why was it that what he wanted and what he could offer were such extremes?

Knowing she'd see through a lie, Sam reluctantly admitted, "I don't know."

Jessica's head snapped back to the ducks on the pond hiding her eyes from him but Sam could see her chin begin to tremble and suddenly a lie seemed like a good idea.

"I'm twenty one years old, Sam. I'm just starting to live." She choked.

"What you saw was just me sort of ... venting." Sam tried to offer comfort, "We don't know what's going to happen."

Afraid to give the statement strength through volume she whispered, "Yes, you do."

"Dean's hunting it. He has people all over this country hunting it." Sam insisted, "Don't let my wallowing in guilt and fear destroy all hope. Please, nothing's written in stone."

Jessica gave no response but raised a trembling hand for silence and again stared out at the ducks playing in the pond.

Sam had never been one for nature and the outdoors. Jessica introduced him to the pond after they rented the house. It would have been a pleasant place to read a book, listen to music or even chat, but Jessica liked to sit in silence. Initially Sam found staring at ducks a rather boring pastime but in time he came to appreciate the peace and contentment of a shared silence.

There was nothing peaceful or content about the silence that weighed between them this day, but neither was it boring. For an hour Sam endured the dark, heavy and painful silence refusing to satisfy his need to sooth and comfort, in favour of granting Jessica what she needed. He sat perfectly still and tried through force of will to release the fear and stress that had overwhelmed him. He not only had to give her, his strength he had to be her guardian and protector.

"Why …..?" Sam startled by the sound of Jessica's voice shook his head to clear it, "Why you?"

"Why kill someone just because you love them?" Jessica asked, "And yes why me?"

"I have no idea." Sam answered miserably, "All Dean's been able to find out is there is a group of us being targeted by demons. He doesn't know why."

"Dean? Exactly part does he play in this?" Jessica asked her troubled face growing dark.

"It's hard to explain." Sam hesitated unsure. There was so much about the supernatural world she still didn't know. Hell, there was much he didn't know.

"Try." Jessica insisted.

* * *

Dean spent an hour cruising all routes one might take to or from the duck pond before going there, searching not only for Jessica but Sam. Spying them from a distance he quickly retreated not wanting to intrude on this private time. He had no doubt he would be faced with it soon enough and chose to go back to the house and have a couple of bracers. This was not going to be pleasant. It was going to be messy and painful and his inability to prevent anything when he knew everything was maddening. How, with such an advantage could he be so completely helpless. The oracle had said he had to shed the child of his father's cruel ways, but as he sat and waited to face Sam and Jessica his fear of failure tugged at him. After fielding questions from Sam's house mates with non committal grunts and snarled curt remarks he took up his bottle of whiskey and went to the living room for some solitude of his own. Strange the way normal people tended to congregate in the kitchen. Their glares told him how angered they were by his silence. He wasn't welcome there and he was fine with that.

As he tossed a couple back Dean couldn't help thinking how badly he was screwing up. Sure Sam seemed to have grown in faith and trust in his big brother but at what cost? He had put Sam through a solid year of fear and guilt not even the Winchester talent for denial could avoid, and worse. If and when Jessica died Sam would be shattered by his own inability to prevent it and Dean had no idea of how he would put him back together again. Dean glanced in a mirror over the mantle piece and told himself 'You haven't failed yet', then dropped onto the sofa and muttered into his glass, 'Yet.' At moments like this he really missed Bobby's counsel.

Dean had a good long brood before Sam and Jessica returned. Perhaps too long considering how much of the bottle had been consumed. Jessica walked into the house her head high and her back straight looking every bit a lady with a mission.

She stood in the living room doorway and decreed, "Dean, I understand you ruined my relationship with Sam because of what some psychic said. What possible justification could you have for something so cruel and irresponsible?"

Had it not been for the half a bottle of whiskey in him, Dean would have been able to ignore the condescension in her voice. He would have taken a closer look at Sam's awkward posture and realized that a less guilt ridden and emotional explanation of the situation was needed. If he had just stopped to think he would have realized that some people might grasp at any straw to avoid accepting that a supernatural evil was intent on taking their life. But whiskey and years of barring unjustified blame got in the way of his good sense. Dean's trade mark smirk slipped into place as he rose to his feet.

"If you want to shoot the messenger I have a pistol in my belt." Dean answered with mock sincerity.

Before a stunned and mortified Sam could interfere Jessica marched up to Dean and demanded, "Just who do you think you are playing with our lives like this?"

Dean's smirk grew as he laughed, "I am the lectus unus sweetheart, who the hell are you?"

Snapped from his momentary state of shock Sam rushed to Jessica's side and demanded, "Dean what the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Hay, talk to your girl friend ." Dean parked at Sam, "I'm trying to save her life and she'd bitching at me about her love life."

"She doesn't understand." Sam growled in frustration, while resisting the urge to throw his brother out of the house. This was the light of his life after all.

"So explain it to her." Dean snarled with equal volume.

"A psychic!" Jessica exclaimed, tears coming to her eyes, "You drove Sam away from me because of what a psychic said. My God that's ridiculous."

"An oracle, sweetheart." Dean answered lowering his voice an octave or two, "Not a psychic, a very _ powerful _ oracle."

"That's enough Dean!" Sam snapped, "Damn it what's wrong with you?"

Dean seemed poised for another smartass remark when he hesitated. He gave his head a little shake as if to rid himself of something then heaved a great sigh and shook his head again in resignation throwing his arms up in a dramatic gesture.

"Fine." Dean screamed fed up with the oracle canting truth in his head and looking at Sam he wailed, "I'm siting on a train-track with a fucking freight train screaming down on me and sometimes I get a little stressed!"

There was something wild in his brother's eyes Sam couldn't quit identify. It wasn't the madness he'd seen in his father, but, something. Dean took a couple of steps back then turned and with one powerful swing bought his fist down on the mantle piece sending wood splintering in all directions. The room was perfectly still, only Dean's laboured breathing disturbed the quiet. The temperature suddenly dropped in the room. The first few times this happened Sam glanced around looking for a spirit to manifest but he now knew it was some how connected to Dean's tempers. He approached Dean carefully searching his face for clues to his state of mind. The was anger there but not directed at anyone. It was an anger born of frustration, and yes, enormous stress.

"There's a punching bag downstairs." Sam offered

"Run, I need to run." Dean whispered and made a hasty escape.

"There's something wrong with that guy." Brady huffed.

"Try carrying his responsibilities and see what it does to you." Sam snapped.

"Kitchen." Laura said which meant, we need to talk.

Sam nodded his agreement. The confrontation with Dean had drained what little strength he had left but he knew this wouldn't wait. He wanted it over with anyway. With a strong arm around Jessica Sam lead her to a seat at the table. He could feel a slight tremble in her frame but at this point was uncertain of whether it was fear or anger. He was startled by the degree of hostility his sweet, gentle, Jessica had unleashed on Dean and at this point couldn't predict which way she'd jump. The glare Brady was directing his way left no doubt which way he was going. Laura asked if they wanted coffee or a bottle of wine. Coffee was the beverage for a hash it out discussion while wine was for a more civilized or philosophical conversation. Sam went back to the living room, brought back Dean's bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for each of them.

"Oh boy." Laura breathed, 'Is it really this bad?' she wondered, then after noting Jessica's state decided, yes, it was.

"Should I start at the beginning?" Sam asked Jessica and receiving a nod he began, "Do you remember Dean telling you that something was coming, something big and that curtain people were being watch? That I was one of those people?" Sam watched as the expressions of his friends did a little dance before the each nodded, "Dean has been researching demon activity that began about thirty years ago. There was a lot of strange activity around Laurence Kansas and other parts of the country. People were being tricked into deals, most not knowing they were doing it. Our mother was one of those people." Sam explained skipping over the finer points as unnecessary and distracting, "When Dean realized just how involved we are in this demon's plans he went to an oracle to find out what he could. That's an oracle not a psychic.

"This oracle warned him that the demon was going to kill someone I loved to make me angry. She told him her name, gave him a complete description and even told him when and where we would be when I realized I was in love with her. She warned him about you to Brady. I didn't believe it at first but he had other information about the future. He predicted the exact date of the invasion of Iraq, the date of the fall of Baghdad, and the end of the war. He even predicted the number of casualties dividing them into military and civilian losses." Sam went upstairs and brought down the letter he had taped back together and passed it around the table suggesting the take note of the date of the post mark.

"That's how he convinced me. When I realized just how accurate this oracle was I broke up with Jessica hoping it would change the future but the fact is we don't know what's going to happen. I don't even know why all this is happening."

Sam looked from face to face trying to read their expressions. Brady was incredulous but then he always was of late. Sam could understand that and did his best to be patient and understanding. Brady was dealing with a broken heart and living in the same house with the man the girl he loved dumped him for couldn't be easy. Even worse when that man is his best friend. Brady tried so hard not to let the love triangle interfere with their friendship but there were times when it was impossible and during those times Sam did his best to understand and forgive. The mix of pain and anger that showed on Brady's face amid the shadow of disbelief, told Sam that this was going to be one of those times he would have to be extremely patient and understanding.

Laura was being typically Laura trying to smother her distress with rational contemplative thought. She had adjusted to their new reality with greater ease than the other three. It was in her nature, or was it do to her philosophy of life learned from her father. 'Over come what you can and endure what you cannot.' Once she accepted the existence of the supernatural Laura set her mind to making whatever adjustments were required to live as well as possible then continued to do exactly that. Live. Dean had said she was more likely to be mugged than eaten by a werewolf. With the aid of Sam's self defence classes Laura felt safer than she ever had before. Sam wondered if her opinion was about to change.

Sam could see her busy mind, behind her soft pale blue eyes, trying to assimilate, sort and analyze this new information. Though Dean had told them about something watching Sam he let this slide into the background when giving his lecture, 'Supernatural 101'. He focused on identifying and dealing with monsters and spirits. Sam was surprised when she let it go but not surprised when she and the others confronted him about it after Dean left in September. Sam told them a highly abridged and mildly edited version of what Dean had told him emphasising that hunters all over the country were watching the signs and preparing to deal with whatever was coming.

"_This is what they do." He said, "Random evil is hard to predict. There's no way of telling were things like werewolves and spirits, will turn up, but something like this has signs and omens. It's hard to explain. Dean knows more about this stuff than I do. All we can do is trust him."_

"_Do you?" Laura asked._

"_Yes." he told her and meant it._

Laura had accepted his answer, they all did. Sam had a feeling that was about to change.

Billy was the wild card in the group. Though he was not easily swayed by anyone he could, be counted upon to support Laura. He worn his love and admiration for her on his sleeve but he would not follow her blindly nor was he afraid to challenge her superior mind. He was a quietly intelligent and rarely impulsive man preferring conversation, reason, and compromise to aggression, but there was a fire hidden deep within. A threat to Laura or even Jessica could bring it to the surface. Sam was startled (and perhaps a little jealous) when in the Underground, before he or Brady could intervene, Billy threw, an overly aggressive admirer of Jessica's, up against a wall. Granted there was a table between them and the football player had too many drinks in him but still. It was Jessica, and Sam didn't think anyone could be quicker to her rescue than him.

Sam took in their faces, all staring at him, waiting. They wanted more, details, questions answered and with a deep sigh Sam obliged. On the scale of most painful things he'd had to do, this was well up there. On the scale of painful things he had to do that day, it was on the lower end. The expressions of utter confusion and abhorrence on their faces made Sam want to crawl under a rock in the back yard and never come out. A large part of him knew this wasn't fair. He had done nothing to bring this nightmare down on himself, he wasn't responsible, but though the divide that separated him from his friends had shrunk to marginal with their introduction to his world in the telling of this tale it became the grand canyon.

"This just isn't possible." Laura finely gave voice to their thoughts, "It's ridiculous, irrational."

"Laura, demons don't think the way we do." Sam said with an awkward shrug.

"I'm sorry, I'm with Jessica on this." Billy spoke up reluctantly, "How ever well intended Dean may have been he created this atmosphere of fear because of what a psychic predicted. I can't think of anything more irresponsible."

"Thank you Billy." Jessica said grateful to have someone on her side.

"Not a psychic Billy, an oracle." Sam corrected, "One that predicted the Iraqi war down to the number of casualties."

"What's the difference between an oracle and a psychic?" Billy asked.

"The difference is that an oracle isn't human. At least this one isn't." Dean's voice, tired and more gravely than usual, came from the hall.

He had left the house in jeans, a T, an over-shirt and motorcycle boots and returned in a muscle shirt, light sweats, soft moccasin like boots and a light sheen of sweat. The first time Sam saw the boots he laughed asking Dean where got those. From my buddy Cass he answered a little defensively then invited Sam to go for a run with him. Sam never laughed at them again.

"What is she? Or he?" Laura asked quickly.

"She's an Angel cursed to serve as an oracle until she learned some lesson or other." Dean explained fully expecting disbelief, "She has a direct feed to the man that knows how it all ends."

"This is the stupidest thing I ever heard." Brady finely exploded. Sam had been waiting for it. "Oracles and Angels and what? God? She talks to God who gives her the future?" he laughed, "You guys are out of your minds."

Sam waited for a sudden chill in the room but it never came. He was grateful Dean had pulled it together, besides he probably understood how it all must sound to an outsider. What, an Angel? Sam gave his head a shake and smiled. He had always believed in Angels and God and prayed quite regularly. It was nice to know he was right. On the other hand, Sam was sure that if they made a horror movie out of this story it wouldn't even make the B list . A rotten tomato award perhaps but horror fans would shun it and critics mock it. He also appreciated the fact that in denouncing Dean and perhaps himself, Brady was putting Jessica's needs before his own. Simply, if Dean and his oracle were ridiculous than there was not threat to Jessica. She could put all the blame on Dean and was free to follow her heart. It was clear of late where that would lead. But if the threat was real she was safer with Brady. Brady wanted Jess safe even if that meant he lost all hope.

"You believe in demons right?" Sam took up the cause, "You can't not believe, you were possessed and saw Billy possessed. They're real right."

"Yah so demons are real." Brady growled.

"You can't have Heaven without Hell. A lot of people would like to think you can but really they're a matched set." He paused as shoulders and faces scrunched in reluctance but hesitantly nodded, "Well the reverse is also true. You know there is a Hell and demons so, how can there not be a Heaven and Angels? Brady it's simple logic. Why Hell but not heaven? How could one exist and not the other."

"Maybe evil is easier to believe in than absolute good." Laura suggested.

"Absolute good?" Dean asked his eyebrows raised.

"You know, fluffy clouds, harps and Roma Downey?" Brady grinned.

"Read your Bible dude." Dean grinned, "Angels are warriors and not all of them are crazy about humans. One named Lucifer got real testy over us showing up. That's how Hell was created."

"You mean like in paradise lost?" Jessica asked startled.

"Not quite. Hell was created as a place where God wasn't. But can you imagine what they did with it?" Dean kept it simple.

"Where do you get all this?" Brady asked still doubting.

"Had a conversation with an Angel." Dean answered easily.

"A real devotee are you?" Jessica asked with a smile.

"Are you kidding." Dean huffed with a grin, "If I ever met God I'd have a few words for him."

"Demons, Lucifer, Heaven and Hell and an Angel that's cursed to be an oracle?" Brady whined finding it all to much to take in in one sitting, "That's crazy."

"Welcome to my world." Dean said, "Well at least you know now that not everything supernatural out there is bad."

"Not all of it bad." Billy asked for affirmation.

"Angel's are warriors but not all are bad." Dean gave it to him.

"So, this oracle is real, her predictions are real and that's it." Brady said in anger and frustration, throwing his arms in the air, as he began to stomp about the room, "There's nothing we can do, Jess's fate is sealed. She's destined to die for the crime of being loved by the wrong guy. "

The blood drained from Jessica's face and everyone else at the table froze as this simple apparent truth was given voice.

"No." Dean answered quickly, "There's no such thing as destiny. We choose our future."

"You mean all this is a maybe? Laura asked confused and perhaps a little angry.

It seemed a lot of heart ache over shadows and possibilities. She had aged a year in the past few hours. She glanced over at Billy and saw similar thoughts swimming in his eyes. Dean and possibly Sam could have a great deal to answer for and it would not be pleasant. But was that hope she saw in Sam's eyes?

"Stay with me." Dean said taking a couple of steps into the room, "At the time I learned about this it was in the works. The demon in Brady introduced Sam to Jessica knowing Sam would fall in love with her and then he'd kill her to drive Sam out of school after revenge. If I do nothing to change that, that's exactly what will happen but I'm not about to do nothing."

Jessica took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. Choosing to see this horror as the fantasies of some crackpot psychic was an act of desperation. The desperate need to not believe. What Dean now offered was something more tangible. It was hope.

"Then by your knowing, the future is changed?" She asked.

"I'm sorry sweetheart that's a maybe." Dean answered as he looked at Sam his eyes apologising for what he was about to say, while knowing it was what Sam wanted. "Maybe what we've done has changed their plans and maybe not. At this point we just don't know."

"So what's the next step?" Laura asked.

"Step?" Dean didn't understand.

"To stop this. What now?" Laura explained, "There must be something we can do."

"Well?" Dean paused wondering how he could say this while sounding pro active, "We're in a holding pattern right now. We've pretty much demon proofed this house and I've circulated a picture and description of the demon we're looking for. I interrogate any demon I find, watch for any omen showing us where the demon is and wait for them to make a move. That's it."

"Well that's hardly enough." Brady growled , "We can't just sit here and wait for this to happen. Do something!"

"Like that?" Dean asked, "You got any suggestions?"

"A demon is coming after Jessica." Brady exclaimed, "You can't just sit and wait for it to get here."

"Brady." Seeing his brother's eyes narrowing, Sam stepped in before his distressed friend pushed Dean's limited patience too far, "There are hunters looking for her. God willing we will find her and send her back to hell before anything happens. Other than that there really is nothing we can do."

"Leave." Brady declared.

"What?" Sam asked stunned by the statement.

"It's coming here because of you, so leave." Brady insisted.

The wisdom of the suggestion was quickly clear to everyone first and foremost to Sam. If the point of killing Jessica was to force him out of school it stood to reason that if he wasn't there the demon wouldn't come? Sam had thought of that and let Dean talk him out of it. He now wondered if his own selfish desire to be near Jessica had been the real reason he stayed. He was the beacon the demon was homing in on. It wasn't about Jessica, it was about him. There were deep breaths and sighs all around as everyone at the table considered seconding the motion.

"I have to admit that does make sense." Laura spoke first.

"It does." Billy agreed, "As much as I hate to admit it Sam, we might all be safer if you weren't here to draw that thing here."

"Or not." Dean spoke up.

It was of course one of the first things that came to Dean's mind. Haul Sam out of school as soon as possible and Azazel would have no reason to hunt Jessica. Sam would be agitated about hunting but the certain knowledge that he had a life waiting for him, one he was without a doubt returning to, would make for a very happy Sam. One dedicated to getting the job done as soon as possible. As Dean had mulled this over in his mind he recalled a conversation with Sam. One of many, about Lucifer. Sam said the fallen Angel wanted him angry. That all the anger in Sam made him strong and more powerful. He couldn't say whether in made Sam more powerful or Lucifer. Maybe both. Either way if Lucifer wanted him angry he may have specifically told Azazel to do something of this nature. To breed anger into the perspective vessels most particularly the perfect vessel. All it would take is one meeting with Meg, or a returned demon Billy or even with Azazel himself and they would know Sam was merely biding his time until he could return to Jessica. Jess would be alone, unprotected and vulnerable. The more Dean thought about it the less likely he believed it was possible to save her. Dean liked it better when she was nothing more than a pretty face in a smurf top.

"Or not?" Jessica asked her voice painfully lifeless.

Dean crouched beside Jessica so she could easily see his face. She deserved such consideration and respect.

"We don't know what is in a demon's mind, why they do what they do." Dean began gently, "We do know that they're arrogant dicks with no regard for human life. They'll kill anyone from old people to babies just for kicks. Yes, this is about Sam, but it isn't as simple as he's here therefore…**.** It's about killing what's closest to Sam's heart and I think you know as well as I do that he's been lying about his feelings for a long time.

"Sam suggested hitting the road last year and I did think about it too but I don't know that it would matter. He wouldn't be any less upset if they came for you when he was in Illinois, Virgina or south Texas. In fact it would be worse because he wasn't here to protect you.

"I'm sure right now you're wishing you never met anyone named Winchester and we don't blame you. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner and with enough proof for Sam but the fact is I wasn't on if fast enough and this is where we are now. We have to deal with now. Now there are two things we have to do. One protect you and two, find that demon. Sam's here to protect you and I'm hunting the demon."

"Can you alone find one demon?" Jessica asked while trying to smile at Dean.

"Me alone, chances aren't good but I'm not alone." Dean smiled back far more successfully than she had, as he prepared to lie, "There are about a hundred and fifty hunters out there searching for this bitch. She leaves a body trail that's easy to spot, so chances are good that she'll slip up in a town too close to one of our hunters and we'll have her."

Seeing the life coming back to Jessica's eyes made the lie worth the telling. Jessica turned to Sam and took his hand. There was forgiveness there amid the fear and confusion and a true ray of hope. Dean met Sam's eyes and found his little brother's eyes smiling back at him. Did he buy the lie or was he simply grateful that Jessica had hope. No, he was buying the lie. What man so much in love would not cling in desperation to any offered hope however thin or even false. Dean touched elbows and shoulders nodding toward the kitchen door. Jessica and Sam needed a little time. Dean didn't even make a show of spending time with Sam's friends. The scowl on Brady's face said everything about his current frame of mind. Laura and Billy had questions. Though they had every right to ask and he should spare Sam the trouble of having to answer, at that moment he couldn't. There was a glimmer of an idea dancing in the back of his mind that would not be ignored and he had a strong feeling that it shouldn't be. They were hunting Meg but it was Azazel that was the threat to Jessica and he wouldn't show up until October. Or would he? Dean climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala, pulled out his journals and began to explore memories and random thoughts of this time in his history.

* * *

Jessica had much to say to Sam. There was the inevitable 'you should have told me' and as considerate of her feeling as he was he didn't retreat in guilt. Yes he'd been lying to her for almost a year but he felt the wherefores and whys made his actions justifiable.

"What good would it have done to put you through all the fear?" he ended the explanation of his actions.

"I won't pretend I'm not completely freaked and scared to death but you and your brother seem on top of everything. Dean and his hundred and fifty hunters out there looking for whatever is." Jessica said with a shaky but genuine smile, "And I have you. That's a big thing."

They were sitting at the table their hands intertwined. Jessica slowly turned to Sam pulling his hands and by remote his head to face her. She let go of one hand, reached up, gently stroked his cheek and held it.

"I've never felt safer than when I was in your arms." She whispered.

Her hand on his cheek slipped behind his neck and she began to lean into him. Sam needed no further encouragement. Living in the same house with Jessica, watching her pad about the house in little night shorts and even encountering her in only a towel from time to time had taxed Sam's powers of self control to the limit. He did not have Dean's appetites but he was a man of passion. Only the terrible threat he was to her kept him at a distance. Though the risk was still present as the pretense now pointless the need for restraint was over. In a single motion Sam scooped up the object of his desire and crushing her body to his he pressed his hungry mouth to her soft wet lips.

The overpowering need of a year of suppressed yearning so intense it had tingled in his mouth, left him aching with need and haunted his dreams, was communicated in that one fiery kiss. Jessica responded by throwing her leg over his hip and clutching his back with desperate groping hands. Forgetting were he was Sam slipped his hands under her top seeking the soft silky skin that was so prevalent in his dreams and found the reality even sweeter than the fantasy.

"Wowe, dude." Dean's gruff voice broke the perfect moment, "Take that upstairs will yah."

Sam and Jessica jumped apart so abruptly Jess would have landed on the floor had Sam not caught her. Their faces red with embarrassment the couple, panting for breath stammered clumsily, seeking some kind of response but could find nothing .

"Hey, yah, uhm, well, right." they stammered as their eyes sought something to look at besides Dean or each other.

"Go, get out of here." Dean said stepping away from the door while jerking a thumb at it.

Holding hands they scampered up the stairs so quickly neither heard Dean's delighted snicker.

"Priceless." he laughed replaying the scene on his cell phone.

He signed pocketing his prize, took up a piece of scrap paper and jotted down a little note.

_Sammy,_

_I have to run to San Francisco for a day or two. A little job to take care of. When your able to pry your hands of that sexy girl give me a call. I don't expect to hear from you till some time tomorrow. Any sooner and I'll be ashamed of you._

_Dean._

Dean was searching for any indication that Azazel might have been in the area keeping an eye on his _favourite_. He knew he was grasping at straws. True his father wasn't perfect, but John had earned his reputation as one of the best. He was a dogged predator, something he had passed to both sons, if he had bothered to take a closer look. No not going to follow that train of thought. He searched his memory for any sign of electrical storms or cattle mutilations in the area of Palo Alto or the surrounding area and found none. That didn't mean there wasn't any only that he hadn't noticed them. He then flipped through his journal of recent and future jobs for a sign of anything out of the ordinary, anything that could be connected to the demon and again found nothing. But he did find something he could do for Sam. He could save Sam from having to kill Madison. He could prevent her ever becoming a werewolf.

* * *

***Please let me know if you approve of my approach to expressing Sam's feelings and if you want more of the same. We haven't finished covering the subject yet and this imagery still has much to offer, but do you like it?**


	30. Chapter 30 Parometer Rising Part 2

**Still down own Sam Dean or Supernatural.**

**FYI, high barometric pressure creates calm weather conditions. Perhaps I should have mentioned that in Part 1.  
**

**Kripke's werewolves looked human due to budget and time restrains "Windego taught us, if we can't do it well don't do it at all. That's why our werewolves look human except for the teeth and claws." but I don't have that problem.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 30**

**Barometer Rising**

**Part 2**

As Dean drove into Sam Francisco, that something in the back of his mind kept nagging him. Dean checked into a hotel, a Best Western. Travelling with Dixon was affecting his expectations. It was several hours before nightfall. An early dinner was in order and a big one as he would be up all night. Dean took out the 'big' journal in which he'd listed all the events from the day he picked up Sam on November 1st to his swan dive into the pit and Dean's visit to the oracle. That included every hunt they'd been on. The werewolf hunt in San Francisco was the first week of March, 2007, a full twenty three months yet to come. Glen would begin hunting the Hunters Point area a year before that. The question before him was, where was Glen when he was turned?

Dean made himself comfortable on his bed, picked up his phone and called Glen asking if he'd take part in a travel survey. Lonely geeks like him are always willing to take surveys, it was sad really. After the most boring fifteen minute conversation he'd had in a long time Dean made a note. Glen would be making his annual camping trip to Turlock Lake. Now that's really, really sad. Dean took out his computer and began searching the area around the lake and near by recreation areas for signs of a werewolf. It took hours covering more than a hundred mile radius but was not disappointing.

The first two bodies were found in Mount Diablo State Park both on the lunar cycle, followed by three more at Henry W. Coe State Park again on the lunar cycle and the pattern grew. Dean began restricting his search to national parks and the pattern continued. This werewolf was working the parks two years before it bit Glen. Dean now knew where it was hunting. The next part was a little trickier but far less gruelling. Who was working at all these different parks at the time of the killings and where would that person be next. He could call Dixon and have the information easily enough and Dean came very close to calling but being dependent on anyone but Sam could be dangerous. No, he couldn't be dependent on Sam either. Sam would be going back to school. Dean was determined.

A quick call to Bobby to arrange an FBI identity and Dean stated making calls. What staff was seasonal, what company would be hired to perform what service and only take a month or two or three. It was a race, to find the person before the full moon. He had hours not days.

It was a gamble, there could be more than one service shared by the parks but the tree service was in the right place at the right time. Tree service? There are people who just go from park to park picking up dead trees? Who knew. He had a two hour drive ahead of him but only an hour before sun down. Hollister Hill state Park had one body missing a heart already. _Who ever you are have a few beers before turning in, will yah?_

Dean was beginning to like having a sixth sense. He didn't have to go knocking on doors or hunting bars to find the werewolf. He could almost see it, a dark form in his minds eye, almost visible to him. He followed the shadow to a tavern where some good old boys were having a couple of drinks. He chose a table in a corner and waited. It was scary. He knew which one it was the minute he walked in the bar. It was the first time the sense was so clear. Dean didn't mind relaxing with a beer. It had been a race and he needed a little time to catch his breath. Besides he could look at pretty ladies and still keep an eye on the werewolf.

It was eleven o'clock when they decided to call it a night, early by Dean's standards, and Mr. Tom Cavendish was asleep by eleven thirty. Dean had parked in the shadows and was waiting when Tom, all fur, fangs and claws jumped out his motel room window and Dean was after him. Damn he was big, almost as big as Dixon but Dixon looked like a magnificent wolf with thick lustrous fur large eyes blue even in wolf form and a proud noble bearing very much like Dixon himself, where as' werewolf Tom appeared hunched and malformed larger in the front and strangely skinny at the rear with yellow eyes and short coarse sandy hair and he snarled and drooled like a rabid dog. Until he met Madison, Dean never had a thought for the person the werewolf was the rest of the month. Now the sight was more tragic than threatening.

Dean was stunned that the werewolf didn't turn to attack but surmised he had a particular victim in mind. He wasn't able to discern any pattern to the victims but that didn't mean here wasn't one. Tom seemed to be heading for the Vehicle recreation area which wasn't good. Too many people, too many potential victims and all very venerable in tightly packed RVs. Tom stopped by a tree to snarl and howl at the lights of the trailer park. This was Dean's moment. He raised his crossbow.

"Hey Cujo!" Dean yelled and when Tom turned he loosed his silver tipped arrow.

At the angle he was firing Dean wasn't surprised that the first arrow didn't penetrate the heart but the second did. It was unfortunate that Cujo turned back into Tom Cavendish before he died. It seemed cruel. Wouldn't it be better to just black out and never come back rather than awaken choking on blood to listen to some stranger offer worthless platitudes for the last few seconds of his life?

"Sorry Tom." Dean patted the shoulder of the now deceased forest worker.

Castiel appeared beside Dean and asked, "Do you regret killing this man?"

"Cass?" Dean started a moment, "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity." Cass answered his head tilting from one side to the other, "Why do you regret killing a werewolf?"

Dean pulled his arrows out of Tom and tossed the died man over his shoulder before answering, "People don't decide to become werewolves Cass, and they don't even know what they're doing when they change. Tom Cavendish is completely innocent. Could you grab the shovel, gas and salt?"

"Yes." Cass answered picking everything up in one hand then pointed out, "Then you have killed an innocent man."

"Yah." Dean admitted as he walked deep into the wooded area beyond the park, "That's the bitch. I have to kill the man to kill the werewolf. Sometimes this job really sucks." He paused and looked around judged the area suitable then growled, "I hate digging."

"Very well." Castiel stepped forward and in seconds a deep trench was dug.

"Cool." Dean grinned, "I don't suppose you could drop some branches in it?" and when Castiel did Dean dumped the body, salted and set it alight, "Rest in peace Tom." he sighed, offered a moments silence then smiled at Cass, "Time for a beer. Let's go."

"Go where?" Castiel asked.

"Back to the car for a beer." Dean answered giving Cass a clap on the back, "You can tell me what's on your mind and don't say killing werewolves cause that's crap."

"I wish to report and increase in demon activity." Cass answered, "In past years no more than a few dozen demons escaped damnation. This year ninety seven have escaped."

"Wowe, that's like quadruple and more." Dean whistled as he hoped on the hood of the Impala, two beer in hand, "Do you know who escaped?"

"To discover their identities I would have to violate perimeters set down by Zachariah." Castiel informed him.

"No don't do that." Dean responded without hesitation, "We don't want you getting into trouble, not if it can be avoided."

"My primary function is as you're protector however if it serves you and your mission I will take whatever risks you require." Castiel volunteered.

"It serves our mission better if you can keep tabs on what's going on in heaven. You can't do that as a renegade." Dean assured him.

"There is little to report other than the increased demon activity seems to please Zachariah." Castiel answered the implied question.

"Yah, I'll bet he's happy." Dean sighed and changed the subject, "So have you seen anything of Gabriel lately?"

* * *

Sam opened his eyes with a start. He couldn't believe he actually dosed off. He looked down at Jessica who meowed quietly as she shifted her head for a more comfortable position on his chest. He could think of no image more perfect or more beautiful than the sight of her golden locks splayed about his chest and her delicate face peeking out among the tresses. Sam gently moved some of the softly scented hair to reveal the rest of her beautiful face.

"Perfect." he sighed contentedly and she smiled, "You faker." he laughed.

Jessica's only respond was to squirm a little and stretch an arm across his chest for more cuddling.

"When was the last time I told you, you're the most beautiful woman in the world?" Sam asked.

"Oh it's been at least an hour." Jessica grinned.

"Much to long, Jess, you are the most beautiful woman in the world and I don't deserve you."

Jessica opened her eyes, folded her arms across Sam's chest and propped her chin on her arms looking up at him. It appeared an uncomfortable position to Sam but it seemed to suit her.

"You're absolutely right, you don't deserve me." she said with a sad smile, "Do you think you had me fooled? I still can't believe you could smile at me and lie. How…..?" her smile faded as she trailed off unable to find the right words.

"Because I didn't lie." Sam answered his own smile gone, "I told you that there was to much happening with my family, that it wasn't a good time for me to have a relationship. That was the truth. I never said I didn't love you. I couldn't force those words out of my mouth. My father would be ashamed to hear me say that." He finished with a laugh.

"Why?" Jessica asked with a laugh, his affirmations of love washing away any lingering discontent.

Sam's eyes had been fixed on her, his adoration shining in them. Suddenly they darted away awkward, embarrassed, even guarded. During quiet evenings in the back yard with beer and munchies conversation often drifted to personal and family matters. Feeling very much a family themselves it seemed natural for the five friends to open up to each other. Sam always had difficulty contributing he share. He was happy to talk about prank wars and confessed to setting fire to a field one fourth of July but that was the range of his family stories. More secretes Jessica was curtain but what and why?

Jessica climbed to her knees and squatted on Sam's lap, his legs between hers. As short lived as their physical relationship had been (more significant for her and Sam was that he was her first) sitting naked like this seemed natural and comfortable to her. She supposed it was a testament to the strength of their emotional bond, proof of just how right they were for each other.

She took his face in her hands, looked deep into his eyes and with a reassuring smile said, "Is there something you haven't told me yet. Do you think there is anything you can't tell me? After all you've put me through I haven't stopped loving you. You can't say anything to make that happen."

Sam smiled and pulled her to him gently kissing the most perfect lips in the world. It wasn't her he doubted. He wasn't afraid of loosing her love so much as he was afraid of loosing her incredibly high opinion of him. But what was it worth if it was based on a lie.

"Do you remember the night we exorcised Billy?" Sam jumped into the deep end, "I told you that we lied and cheated and stole to survive." She nodded and Sam took a deep breath uttered a silent prayer and continued, "That was a way of life for me. When I was really little Dean taught me to lie. He made a game of it. We spent a spend a week making a cover story and practicing it for my first day in kindergarten. We rehearsed all the way there. He quizzed me making sure I had all the right answers, that I wasn't offering to much information, keeping it short. He asked me something I didn't have an answer for to see if I made something up. 'Just say I don't know Sammy.' he said, 'A five year old wouldn't know that.' I didn't know Jess, I didn't now what was normal for a five year old to know because everything I ever told people was scripted for me. Who we were, where we were from, what our dad did, where he was, the whole nine yards. The older I got the more I had to have answers for and I started learning what were the best type of answers and why. The science of lying. Dean said it was like superhero's and we were protecting ourselves with secrete identities. To a point he believed that. He saw our dad as a superhero and we where hero's in training.

"By the time Dean was twelve he was an artist and not just as a liar but a thief and a hustler. Dad would be gone for weeks and we'd run out of money. Dean would take me out on the street in are oldest cloths. Our best stuff was second hand so you can image what we looked like. Dean had an 'Our mom's sick and out of work' routine or 'dad broke his foot'. The 'Our little sister disappeared and we're trying to get money for posters' act was pretty good in the right neighbourhoods, and the ever popular, 'Our dad's in detox and grandma's social security cheque isn't enough.' used to raise eyebrows and money in the right towns. Could Dean ever play people.

"I remember when I was like eight and ten, watching him spin tales and charm people and thinking I wish I could do that. He could talk his way out of trouble at school and fight, oh could he fight. Dean was always the toughest kid in the yard."

"He was your hero." Jessica said with a smile.

She was smiling, not judging not appalled but smiling at him. A great weight that had been sitting on his chest making it hard to breath as he spoke, evaporated. 'I should have had more faith in her'

"Yah I guess he was. He was the one that taught me to tie my shoes, read me bed time stories, and checked my homework. He was the one that made my supper, washed my cloths and did the shopping whether he paid or had me cover him while he pocketed it. Hell he was the one that gave me the facts of life talk. He told me he would let me know when I was old enough and he'd kick my ass if I didn't wait. He threatened me with a life time of hurt if I forgot to use a condom."

He paused to listen to Jessica's merry laugh. She was so amused she rocked back and forth giggling.

"I can see it." she said squealing, "I can see that in my head. Teenage Dean scowling at you about safe sex. Tell me, did he make you wait years longer than he did?"

"Yah." Sam admitted with a chuckle and a sigh, "I think so but then I wasn't in a hurry. I was an awkward adolescent. I didn't even reach five feet tall till I was sixteen then I shot up to six before the junior prom. It was weird. Dean was pushing six feet when he was fifteen and most of my life I didn't reach his shoulders but I was taller than him when I graduated. On the other hand I'm four inches taller than him now but he can still kick my ass."

Sam looked away as he reflected on those years and all the times he and Dean laughed and played, how Dean bent and broke rules for him, yet they began to move away from each other. The anger he used to feel toward Dean when looking back was gone now and a sadness took it's place.

"I see a frown in your eyes?" Jess prodded gently.

"I began to realize it wasn't a game. What hunting was really all about. Dad started Dean hunting when he was thirteen or fourteen. He was big and could fight so much better than me. When I was fourteen dad let me stay with Dean in a stake out for a werewolf. I was really nervous. He tucked me in close to him and promised he'd protect me but when it showed I panicked and ran. Dean jumped in front of it trying to grab me. It slashed his arm and he lost his gun. We tell this funny story about a werewolf chasing me around a tree and Dean jumping on it's back stabbing it with a silver knife screaming 'Die you son of a bitch.' But it wasn't funny. It was terrifying. I couldn't count how many stitches were needed to put his arm back together again. The whole time Dad was sewing Dean up he was taking a strip out of him a mile wide. He had a list of Deans mistakes as long as my arm and Dean just sat there saying yes sir. That was the beginning of the end for me.

"Dean stole a lap top for me for junior high and I thought it was the best present in the world. Just a couple of weeks after the werewolf thing he got me a new one for high school and a guy I made friends with said it was just like, his new one that was stolen out of his back pack. He told me how he worked so hard to get it and how hurt he was to loose it that way. Dean insisted he stole it from a store but that didn't make me feel any better and what was more disturbing was I realized Dean didn't care one way or another. He wanted it so he took it. End of story.

We were nomadic, never more than a month or two anywhere, strangers everywhere we were. Always lying and stealing, everything about us was fake, never anything earned, nothing really ours. We belonged no where and nothing really belonged to us. And that werewolf thing? Dean was the only one who ever cared what I wanted or how I felt and I damned near got him killed. Then I watched him take the blame for not protecting me properly. It just wasn't fair. Nothing about our life was.

"Jess Dean's very heroic, fighting evil, and risking his life but I …. can't ignore the ….the other side of it. Dean isn't immoral he's amoral but I'm not. I see the right and wrong and I can't live that way. I'm ashamed that I ever did."

"Sam that wasn't your life, it was your father's." She smile tenderly, "You shouldn't be ashamed of something you had no control over. It's incredible that though you were completely submerged in a life like that, that you could still discern right from wrong. You are a very remarkable man Sam Winchester and I am so proud that you're mine."

Sam had hoped and prayed she would not hold his past sins against him. Something inside him told him that his fears where his insecurities, his guilt and shame. It wasn't her he doubted bu himself. She had a depth of understanding and compassion that exceeded his own and all he had to do was put his faith in her. For a love based on truth not lies Sam had taken that leap of faith. He watched Jessica's face slowly shift from intense contemplation to loving acceptance and his fears evaporated. He, the real Sam, belonged to someone and her to him. He may be a freak out of step with the rest of the school but he had a home and that home was where ever she was.

"I'm yours, am I?" Sam asked his heart aglow.

"Yes you are, so get used to it mister." She said grinning ear to ear.

"I plan to." He chuckled flipping her over on her back and kissing her with all the joy and passion he felt.

_Sam knelt before his fair maiden his armour tarnished with the stains of his past sins and receiving the blessing of her favour, his armour was washed clean by the power of her love and the purity of her soul. With his strength renewed by the grace of her love he took her in his arms and carried her to his magnificent steed and together they fled the waste land that had been his home and journeyed to her fair kingdom to seek the kings permission to wed._

* * *

Dean had come to enjoy his evenings sitting on the hood of the Impala with Sam and it felt strange gazing at the stars with Castiel but being with the Angel was loosing it's strangeness. It had taken many conversations usually after training to even worm Cass to the concept of casual conversation but the ease with which he now sat with Dean asking and answering questions was evidence that their friendship was again growing.

"Is there a reason we are drinking alcohol?" Cass asked.

"Say again?" Dean responded.

"I am wondering if there is a reason we drink alcohol while observing the sky or resting after training?" Cass explained his question.

"Well it's relaxing and refreshing, well beer is after training." Dean answered with ease, having grown accustomed to his friend's lack of understanding of simple human customs, "In my case drinking at night is how I get to sleep. The way the nightmares have faded I'm starting to wonder if I really need to anymore. I've actually cut back a little."

"Is this something that pleases you?" Castiel asked hopefully.

"Totally dude." Dean grinned, "Nightmares are no fun and frying my brain is not a good idea. May be to late though. I know something is right in front of my face but I'm not seeing it."

"Has alcohol damaged your vision?" Castiel asked concerned.

Dean had told Castiel about Zachariah's tampering with his memories and knew enough to not ask permission before influencing his dreams, but it was a risk. Castiel was glad that he had made the right decision in tampering with Dean's nightmares. But now he feared he'd begun to late or took to long. How much damage did this drinking do?

"It's a figure of speech." Dean answered casually, he was used to this, "It means there's something I'm missing… No I haven't lost something. Something I'm missing up here," He pointed to his head, "An idea or something I should know or understand or ... well, ... something." Dean hopped off the hood of the car, and pulled the larger journal out of his duffel bag, (he packed just in case the hunt went bad) and hopped back on the hood. He flipped the pages to October 31st 2005 and read the notation out loud.

_Go to Sam's apartment after dad's been missing several days. Take him with me to Jericho to find dad and find a hunt. A woman in white, 'Constance Welch' I'm arrested and find dad's journal at the station. There are coordinates to Grand Junction. Sam finds out Constance is buried behind the home she lived in. He calls in fake report of shooting and I escape. Sam is hijacked by Constance. I get there before she can kill him and scare her off, temporarily. Sam drives my baby into the Welch home and her children take her. Drop Sam off at apartment and leave. Notice radio is all static and my watch has stopped and go back to make sure Sam is safe. Brady has killed Jessica, pinned to the ceiling like mom and I drag Sam out. (Thought it was Azazel) Hunt for a week for signs of Azazel then leave for Grand Junction to find Dad._

"This is it Cass. This is when and how it all starts. Dad starts finding signs of the yellow eyed bastard just before next Halloween. I can't figure out why I keep coming back to this page looking for something I'm missing." Dean growled in frustration, "The closer we get to that date the more frustrated I am. I know what's going to happen and that I have to stop it or change it or just be different with Sam when it happens but there's something else that I'm not getting."

"Are you certain this is an accurate recounting of the events as they happened?" Castiel asked.

"Not a lot of detail but yah, pretty much what happened." Dean nodded them dropped his empty beer bottle and pulled a flask from his coat.

"And are the events leading to this point occurring as they did before?" Castiel asked.

"No I've changed a lot and not all for the best either." Dean groaned.

"Yet you believe these events were repeat?" Cass asked.

"There's significance in killing Jess on November 2nd exactly twenty two years after he killed mom and in exactly the same way he killed her. Of course he can't have Brady do it …" Dean stalls as he considers what he just said and repeats, "He can't have Brady do it." He pauses again then smiles at Cass, "It can't happen exactly the same way cause I exorcised demon Brady. Right after I did that Meg tries to crazy dad into killing me three years earlier than when we crossed paths with her the first time. I exorcised demon Billy more than three years before I killed him. With all this shit screwing up his plans anything can happen, like maybe Azazel's surfaced to straighten things out." he finished with a big grin, then threw an arm around Castiel giving him a manly squeeze, "Dude you're a genius."

Cass did his head tilt and blinked in confusion saying, "Though by human standards my intellectual abilities are of a genus level by my family's standards I am merely average."

Dean only laughed and gave him a friendly clap on the back, "Buddy you may know shit about people stuff but you're a lot smarter than you think." he finished them capped the flask and decided it was time for a good nights sleep but paused and turned to his friend a serious expression on his face, "Look at it this way Cass. You had brains enough to know that what the other Angels were do was wrong, that God didn't want it. I'd say that's better than average."

* * *

Sam and Jessica tip toed down the stairs preparing to sneak by Dean and into the kitchen. Sam froze a moment finding the sofa empty then rushed to the kitchen and the phone. He had his big brother on the phone before Jessica waved Dean's note in his face.

"Dean where are you?" He demanded before taking the note from Jess to read.

"After a year of repression and frustration you quit this early. Sammy, it's barely one in the morning. You should be ashamed." Dean teased.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he crumbled the note. Only Dean could reduce an important and meaningful evening to such base terms and sully one of the most romantic and passionate nights of his life. Sam wanted to reach through the phone and strangle some respect into him. Jessica giggling at the note didn't help.

"Dean I'm not going to dignify that with a response." Not in front of Jessica anyway, so he growl instead, "How can you just take off at a time like this for a solo hunt."

There was a long pause before Dean answered, "You said that cause you're worried, not bitchy cause I need your permission or something, right?"

'_No I just wanted to snarl at you cause you embarrassed me.'_

"No, I…, Do you have to be so ….." Sam hedged angry and wondered how Dean turned this around on him, ... again.

"You should stop taking me so seriously and just laugh." Dean said with a smile in his voice, "I bet Jessica is. Why does it bother you that you have a brother like me Sammy, no one's going to mistake me for you. Oh skip it, this is not a night for intense brother shit. What the hell did you come down stairs for anyway?"

"Food, if you must know." Sam snapped.

"Ah, need to refuel. You're forgiven." Dean said the laughter retuning to his voice, "A lot of people like strawberries with whipped cream but I prefer whipped cream with strawberry sauce."

"Goodbye Dean." Sam growled and hung up the phone though knowing Dean was laughing he continued to seethe.

Jessica's continued amusement added confusion to Sam's muddled emotions. He avoided her eyes by sticking his head in the refrigerator in search of leftovers. A plate of fried chicken and a bowl of fruit salad with marshmallows caught his attention and he pulled it out offering it to Jess who's giggle became a laugh. Without a word she pulled him to the a chair, pushed him into it and straddled his legs to sit in his lap. With food in each hand Sam could only sit there bemused and amused.

"Now what?" he asked with a grin.

"That's better." she said taking the chicken and salad and placing it on the table. She rapped her arms around his neck putting her forehead to his and asked, "I've never seen anyone upset you the way your brother does. What is it with you two?"

Sam turned his head so she couldn't see the reproachful expression on his face and kissed her bare shoulder. His brother was the last thing he wanted to talk to her about. He had made his soulful confession regarding his childhood and desperately wanted to close the door to the past, to hunting, to everything that was, and bury himself in Jessica. He traveled along her collarbone to her neck leaving a trail of light kisses.

"Sam you're not distracting me." She said pulling away because it was very distracting, "Come on, you two are so close yet you seem to rub each other the wrong way so badly. What is it?"

"It's that … he's so ….so vulgar." Sam sighed reluctantly, "No morels remember. He flirts with every girl he sees, no he hits on them and it's all about sex. I'm amazed he hasn't tried anything with you or Laura yet. I really wouldn't put it past him."

Sam wasn't expecting an out burst of giggles from Jessica and he was ready to kill when she said Dean had hit on her. Dean knew how much she meant to him. How could his brother betray him like that?

"I asked him what he'd do if I took him up on his offer and he just grinned at me and said that ain't going to happen, sweetheart. You're still in love with my brother." she laughed, but the chimes quickly faded and she looked into Sam's shocked eyes rather forlornly as she mused, "I don't think he knows how to talk to a girl or even be around one if he's not trying to charm her into the bedroom. It's sad really. Didn't your father ever talk to him about girls or anything like that?"

Sam thought about it for a minute before answering, "No, I don't think he did. Dean sort of raised himself. I guess he had to figure things out on his own.

"God that's sad." Jess frowned, "Maybe you should feel sorry for him instead of being angry with him."

"Oh no, don't pity Dean, he would not appreciate that." Sam cautioned, "There's little Dean hates more than pity." Then after some thought he added, "Besides he's happy just the way he is and even though he pisses me off I have to respect that and take him as he is. Now," he sighed, picked up a piece of chicken and held it to Jessica's lips to feed her, "Can we not talk about my brother anymore?"

Jessica grinned and nodded then took a bite out of the meat and licked her lips her grin turning suggestive.

* * *

**I have no idea if there are services that travel from state park to state park but it served my purpose.  
**

***Please read and review. Let me know if the pace has slowed to much. Am I starting to bore you?  
**


	31. Chapter 31 A Shift In Pressure

**Disclaimer: Had the Winchester boys over to play but don't worry, I sent them home in time for another episode.**

**Believe it or not I honestly thought I was going to get another chapter out before the holidays. Now you know my secrete, I'm delusional. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and joyous new year.**

* * *

**Chapter 31**

**A Shift In Pressure**

It seemed painfully obvious once he saw it. The simplest way to prevent Jessica's death and end everything before it started was find Azazel before November. Dean never perused this possibility for the simple reason that he wasn't expecting the yellow eyed demon to surface until September or October? 'That's narrow linear thinking for you.' he admonished himself. He was having trouble sorting out the then and now issues. For a full year he had been using the "tomorrow's journal" like a Bible.

Turning the larger journal into "Tomorrow's Gazette" was an arduous task he began working on within days of his arrival in the new time line. When he began working on memory recall with Castiel the book truly began to evolve. The Angel had Dean begin his exorcises by drawing, purely from memory, things he knew well. Dean was sceptical but did as instructed.

Dean wasn't without some skill. In high school when his options were limited Dean had taken a couple of art classes in the hopes of an easy credit and he was told he had a good eye. What he had trouble with was taking the class seriously. He put as much effort into his work as was necessary cheating and taking short cuts when he could, to maintain the B average average his father insisted upon. Short cuts and cheating was difficult in classes in which so much of the work was practical application. Dean took art when the only other options for the time slot were of a home economics nature.

Dean sat down with a sketch pad and pencil and began with the most familiar objects, the simpler the better. The object of the exorcise was to remember as much detail as possible. Drawing what he saw in his minds eye was like exorcising a muscle to build strength, Castiel explained. 'The more you draw from memory the stronger your memory will become.' Dean doubted one would lead to the other but with coaching, the images in his minds eye grew in clarity with remarkable detail. Once this skill was developed to Castiel's satisfaction he had Dean look at an object for fifteen minutes then draw it, then ten minutes, then five and lower. The object was to capture an image, the whole scene, not just a piece of it or a specific aspect. This required taking in the whole and mentally snapping a picture then recalling it as he drew.

These exorcises were his first adventure in Quradu training. It took time and work and hiding his sketch pads from his father. Sketching in his free time was such a girly thing to do. But this daily drawing from memory lead to his first successful recall of a newspaper. The sports results were easier to recall than the date of the Iraqi war. Castiel was puzzled by this, as alarming news usually left a greater impression on the human mind than something of casual interest. Dean snarling that 'people wanting to conquer and kill each other was a variety of evil he didn't understand and didn't want to', cleared up the confusion for Castiel.

Dean had become so absorbed in remembering the details he had missed the big picture. It was his job to make the journal worthless and was making headway in that department. Dean waited until morning before making a couple of calls, one to Los Vegas and the other to a winged friend, then he drove into Palo Alto a more optimistic man. He arrived at the yellow square house just in time for breakfast. There was a chair available for him. Brady's.

"Brady getting some extra zzzz's? You two keep him awake all night ?" Dean asked with his usual lack of tact, as he helped himself to bagels and a coffee,

Sam gave Dean an intense glare before answering, "I guess he decided not to wait for me to go jogging."

"Probably thought you were too tired." Dean grinned without looking up but as he took a huge bite of a bagel covered in cream cheese his face twisted with disgust and he threw the food on his plate, "What is this, some kind of half fat crap?"

"Yah, it is." Sam answered his eyes narrowing even more.

"What?" Dean asked of Sam's censure.

"Have you any tact at all?" Sam asked.

"Only when I'm conning people." Dean answered after a long pause, "What's the deal here?"

Dean looked from awkward face to awkward face. They looked at the table and to each other but no one made eye contact with him. Not even Sam. No angry glare, no bitch face, nothing. This was serious.

"What?" Dean demanded of Sam.

"It's Brady." Sam whined exasperated by Dean's inability to see the obvious.

"What about him?" Dean asked and received only hums and haws, "Is he plagiarising his assignments? Stealing from the grocery fund? Did his head spin around and puke up pea soup?"

"Damn it, he's upset." Sam cried.

After a long pause Dean replied, "Well, that's earth shattering." and rose to look for something else to eat.

"Dean?" Sam whined at the heartless responce.

"I walked in at the end of the show." Dean complained as he stood by the open fridge door and waited, "What?"

"Brady is in love with Jessica." Laura came to his aid.

"That's not exactly news." Dean looked at her, closed the door and folded his arms, "Sooooo?"

"Can you imagine how upset he is now that Sam and Jessica reconciled?" Laura sighed, "He's heart broken."

"How can he live in this house and still hope?" Dean groaned, opened the refrigerator, pocked his head in and pulled out the last of the chicken, "A blind man could see these two were locked in orbit around each other. He didn't have a hope in Hell."

"I had one hope." Brady called from the kitchen door.

Dean wasn't surprised to see him. He heard Brady coming up the stairs, and smelled the sour odour of his sweat the minute the door opened. Didn't he know enough to wash before running? He perceived no threat so Dean's mind acknowledged Brady's presence then promptly pushed it aside.

"Yah?" Dean asked with little interest.

"That Sam would do the right thing" Brady answered addressing Sam not Dean.

Everyone at the table suddenly began staring at their hands. '_Come on Sam don't just sit there, you've been challenged. Stand up for yourself_.' Sam's eyes slowly lifted. There was a momentary hint of guilt but it quickly seeped away.

"And what do you think the right thing is?" Sam asked sitting back with feigned ease.

"Leave! My God Sam, you should never have come back." Brady answered as if it should have been obvious.

Before Sam could respond Jessica asked in a gentle tone, "And why is that the right thing?"

"A demon is gunning for you because he's here." Brady wailed.

"That's not quite true." Sam spoke up, "He's gunning for her because I love her. Leaving won't change that and I wouldn't be here to protect her."

"Are you so sure about that?" Brady demanded.

"We've had this conversation. Powerful oracle, remember?" Dean stepped in, "All leaving gets her is unprotected."

"Or if he left and stayed away maybe his feelings would have changed and then she wouldn't die." Brady suggested.

"Are we really going to do this?" Dean asked with a shudder.

"No **we** aren't." Sam took charge, "Brady and I need to talk. Could you guys leave us alone."

"No." Jessica stepped up, "**We, **have to have a chat with Brady."

"Why don't **we** grab a real breakfast somewhere." Dean suggested jumping at the opportunity to leave.

The last thing he wanted to do was be witness to the discussion. Sam didn't lack back bone. He would stand up to their father, to Dean, to anyone from the life. What he lacked here in Stanford was sure ground. He wanted to be one of them but couldn't forget that he was different and thus he hesitated in pushing ... well just about anything, and was too quick to assume he was wrong. It was the them and us mind set that dampened Sam's assertive ways. It wasn't a problem for Dean simply because he didn't care, but Sam would if Dean interfered.

"Sounds like a plan." Billy accepted the invitation.

"Let's." Laura agreed.

The trio found the comfortable diner Sam had taken Dean to the day before, and ordered breakfast but neither Laura nor Billy could eat. They had, had their breakfast and only joined Dean in their hurry to escape the awkward confrontation. Dean on the other hand was hungry as usual. The hungry man special with a full stack and side orders of bacon and sausage. Dean dove in with gusto.

Laura and Billy took little notice of what Dean was doing and paid little attention to anything he said. After several attempts to engage them in conversation Dean held up his fork and threatened, "If you don't prove you're alive I'm going to stick my fork in you to find out."

"Sorry Dean, we're a little worried. This could get ugly." Laura apologised.

"No, Sam can handle him." Dean sought to reassure them, "Brady won't even land a punch."

"Well I hope it doesn't go that far." Billy grimaced.

"Ooookaaaaay, what's your idea of ugly?" Dean asked.

"Brady could move out." Laura answered.

"Could be the best thing." Dean suggested with an air of indifference.

"Why?" Billy asked mildly indignant.

"You're a couple, Sam and Jess are a couple, that makes Brady the fifth wheel. Not a lot of fun for him and worse when you consider he's still got a thing for Jess." Dean explained his view, "Maybe he should move on."

They couldn't deny Dean had a valid point but they weren't behind the idea either. They would prefer if Brady found someone nice and increased the family rather than decrease it. Since their eyes had been opened to the darkness outside their door the 'strength in numbers' adage had taken on new meaning. They had no desire to loose anyone nor did they relish the thought of their friend facing something alone. Laura and Billy checked their watches and decided an hour was time enough. Dean insisted on paying the bill pointing out that he was the only one that eat and he even helped himself to their bacon and sausage.

They arrived at the yellow house hoping for the best put prepared for bad news. They didn't expected the battle to still be raging. They could hear Brady screaming at Sam in the kitchen talking so loud and so fast it was hard to make out what he was saying. During momentary pauses Sam could be heard trying to reason with him. They were only moments in the door when they were greeted by a highly agitated Jessica.

"Has this been going on since we left?" Laura asked in distress.

"No. We apologised for hurting him but made it very clear Sam couldn't and wouldn't leave and not just for protection. I don't want him here. Brady stormed off and we thought it best if we left him to calm down." Jessica gave them a quick run down, " He came down stairs about ten minutes ago even more hostile than when he went up and attacked Sam … he's vicious. Screaming that it's all Sam's fault, that he brought the supernatural to our school, all that sort of thing. He still wants Sam out."

"Sam apologised, and is continuing to apologise, right?" Dean asked.

"Of course." Jessica answered as if it was a silly question.

"Well that's his mistake." Dean sighed.

"Just one minute." Jessica declared as Dean moved toward the kitchen.

"Someone important is at your door, tell him I'll be right out." Dean told them Dixon was coming up the front steps.

The sequence of events that followed transpired in only a few heartbeats. Laura, curious, opened the front door to find an elegant looking gentleman raising his hand to knock. At the same time Dean took several steps toward the kitchen pulling away from Jessica's restraining hand on his arm. In the next heartbeat the yelling stopped in the kitchen followed by a thump and a bang. 'Son of a bitch' Dean roared and bolted to the kitchen. Without an invitation the elegant gentle followed right after Dean. He was followed by Jessica, Laura and Billy. They found Sam slumped against the counter and Brady standing over him preparing to kick him. Blood trickled down Sam's chin attesting the the severity of the punch but other than that Sam wasn't distressed. He had a hand out to block the foot but Dean didn't wait. He was on Brady in a blink punching him in the jaw sending him to the floor, then hauled him to his feet and slammed him against a wall. Sam was on his brother, screaming at him to stop but the elegant man grabbed Sam. After a brief struggle the newcomer had Sam in a half nelson pushing him up against a wall to restrain him. Nothing startled the others more. Sam began self defence lessons only weeks after moving in. They knew what he was capable of.

"You move, I kick your ass." Dean threatened Brady as he let go of him, then warned Sam's would be rescuer, Billy "He can rip your arm off and feed it to you." before turning to the newcomer, "Uhm, Dix, that's my brother."

"I recall. I'm being gentle." Dixon assured him.

"Appreciate it. Would you keep this guy under control. Just growl at him if he moves from this spot." He asked his friend then turned to his brother, "Sam the living room!"

Dixon released a red faced Sam who promptly pushed Dixon away in a display of force. He straightened his cloths before turning to Dean with such furry it started everyone, including Jessica.

"Is that an order?" Sam demanded with quiet threatening furry.

Dean could see Sam's face twitching with rage but he was at the end of his own rope and was not going to back down. He took several deliberate steps toward Sam.

"We are not having this conversation in public." Dean warned him.

Dean's jaw muscle was twitching and his eyes were glaring in that way that said 'push at your own risk'. Sam very seriously considered challenging his brother. He knew it would lead to a physical confrontation, and though he'd never won a fight with Dean they hadn't gone head to head for years. As Dean had pointed out, Sam was filling out, turning into a man and he had never been stronger. But as galling as Dean barking orders was the demand for privacy should never be ignored. Besides his brother had back up that moved like lightening and was even stronger than Dean.

"Sam!" Dean snapped.

Sam couldn't hide the flinch, "This better be serious." he said to save face and marched to the living room.

"Do I want to know what's going on?" Dixon asked.

"Most of this is about why I called, but these last few seconds are pure family drama."

"Need back up?" Dixon asked as Dean headed for the living room.

"Oh, hell no." Dean answered and followed Sam out.

Sam proceeded Dean into the living room and stood at the window staring at nothing. The last thing he wanted to look at was his brother, who once again seemed to forget all his protestations about recognizing Sam as a man. Talking to him like that in front of his friends. ** In front of Jessica.** It was humiliating. Sam didn't have to look to be aware that Dean took up a position by the fireplace. He waited in silence determined to make this as difficult for Dean as possible.

"Sam, I swear, when you left home you forgot everything you learned." Dean said heaving a frustrated sigh.

"What did I forget? That you're the boss and I have to jump when you snap your fingers?" Sam demanded as he spun around to face Dean.

"An apology is an expression of guilt, or remorse. How do you think Brady is taking your endless 'I'm so sorry'?" Dean sighted a basic, interview of witness, technique they both knew, "Brady picks up on your guilt and comes at you. What the hell are you apologising for anyway?"

"You just don't get it. You never feel guilty about anything." Sam growled and turned to face the window again but knew he said something wrong when the temperature in the room plummeted, but didn't care.

"You don't know a God damned thing about me, do you?" Dean breathed after a long silence, "But that's a discussion for another time. You remember your mantra? 'Never apologise for who or what you are. You know how smart and tough you are, so demand respect.' That may have got you here but you've been apologising since you arrived. You don't owe Brady a damn thing so what the hell are you sorry about?"

"He's heart broken Dean, why don't you get that?" Sam growled at the window.

"Why is that your fault?" Dean demanded.

Sam slowly turned around to look at Dean. Yes, Dean was angry, the ongoing chill of the room told him that, but there was no condescension in the question. There was frustration and anger in every word, to be sure, but he wasn't talking down to his little brother. My God he really doesn't get it. How could Dean be so thick?

"Brady and Jessica turned to each other when I broke up with her, so, in a way, I made all this possible. I feel guilty about that." Sam tried to explain his feelings.

"And is it your fault that Jessica never loved him?" Dean cried throwing his arms up.

Sam only shrugged and asked, "How do you know she never did?"

Dean chuckled and answered softly, "Sammy, I was the other guy in damned near every high school we went to. Do you think a little flirting could steal a girl from a guy? I always knew which ones honestly cared about their boyfriends. There's something in her eyes, and a curtain smile she has when she looks at a guy. I never put the moves on a girl with that look, flirt a little just for fun but no. Jessica never looked at Brady that way. You didn't make anything happen so unload the guilt and stop giving him someone to blame. You're just fuelling his fire."

"He's right about one thing. I did bring our world here." Sam pointed out an uncomfortable fact.

"What makes you think this place was supernatural free before you got here?" Dean groaned shaking his head.

"What?" Sam demanded knowing there was something in the statement. A random question would have been asked loudly with a shrug or wave of the hand, not regret.

"Sammy do you remember, the first year you were here? Two girls died in the library? They fell from a balcony, one in September and the other in December. Both on Friday the 13th. It didn't take a lot of research to find the spirit who was recreating her own death. Two dead girls a year for five years and nobody was wise. I just don't get people some times."

"Two dead girls?" Sam stammered.

"Every Friday the thirteenth. The school kept redesigning the balcony. Trying to make is safer I guess." Dean shrugged, "The point is the supernatural was always here. Is always here. I keep telling you there's only one world."

"And you didn't tell me this?" Sam growled.

"What?"

"You come here on a hunt and don't even tell me?" Sam growled loader.

"Do you think I wouldn't keep an eye on you?" Dean growled back, "I'll always be here for you. Get used to it."

"You should have told me." Sam wailed in frustration.

Sam's anger toward Dean had all but bled out by the time they'd finished talking about Brady and though it experienced a slight surge over the spirit it faded fast. He always knew Dean had his back, and there was a comfort in that. His anger was replaced by an irritation over the way Dean had handled the situation both the hunt and the fight in the kitchen, but then big brother had said it himself. He only used tact when on the job. They would have to have a long chat about that, but not today. As Sam walked back to the kitchen he stored something else in the back of his mind for future examination. His mantra: _That may have got you here but you've been apologising since you arrived._

Sam found his friends all sitting around the kitchen table waiting for him. It was, work out a serious problem, time. Sam was glad to realise he didn't feel the same dread he had earlier when waiting for Brady. He had allowed his guilt over Brady's pain to cloud his judgement however, though he was well acquainted with shame, guilt was not something he was overly familiar with so he excused himself for his poor judgment.

As Sam took his place at the table Dean shook his friends hand, "Dixon, I didn't expect to fly out here like this."

"The advantage of owning a jet. You said it was urgent." Dixon replied.

"He owns a jet, why am I not surprised." Dean laughed, "Why don't you make yourself comfortable in the yard while I get us a couple of coffee's and something from my bag. Okay?"

"Of course." Dixon agreed and nodded curiously to the group gathered at the table before leaving.

ssssssssss

Dean found Dixon relaxing in a lawn chair his feet up completely at ease. After putting the coffee on a little table he dropped into a chair beside Dixon sketch pad in hand and began to draw. On his drive back from the werewolf hunt Dean had concocted a number of good stories to explain why he wanted the Barbaru hunting another demon. Meg was payment for services rendered but he didn't think he could play that card twice. But as he concocted his stories the oracle began nagging him. The truth may be his greatest weapon with Sam but why was she plaguing him over Dixon? It was damned frustrating. Then it came to him. Lying to allies was a good way to loose them and damn it Dixon was his partner who'd earned his respect. He would have to be careful though. Some truths were dangerous.

"You know that demon I've got you looking for?" Dean began.

"The girl from Boston, Megan Masters, yes." Dixon answered.

"Well she's just a soldier, a very important one I need to get my hands on but her father is the key to what's going on right now."

"Father?" Dixon started, "Demons have parents?"

"I didn't cover that?" Dean asked surprised.

"No, you did not." Dixon answered with a hint of annoyance.

"Sorry dude. Brace yourself, this might be hard to rap your head around. A demon is a human being who's gone to hell and had all the humanity burned out of them. They crawl out, supper charged, a hundred times more powerful than a normal spirit and with no conscience. There's one demon I know that likes to drink babies blood. Complete and total evil. Now some have gone to hell on the family plan. Think Ma Barker and her sons. Are you with me?"

"Good Lord." Dixon breathed but nodded yes, "This Meg, her father is the key to what?"

Dean carefully explained how "Something" began over thirty years ago in a convent in Ilchester Maryland with the massacre of eight nuns, 'Blood magic is the most powerful kind of magic and it doesn't get much more powerful than eight nuns in a chapel', he told Dixon, then touched on the demon's cross country journey making deals followed by return visits ten years later, naming Saginaw Michigan, Guthrie Oklahoma and Lawrence Kansas specifically. He was not daring enough to mention the demon blood in the babies mouth.

"We're not sure why he wanted back into the homes, only that in each case there was a six month old child and in most cases the women of the house died, pinned to the ceiling in the nursery followed by the house burning down. We do know that things are coming to a head. Escapes from Hell have more than quadrupled and this demon Azazel might be on the move again." Dean finished.

"Good Lord." Dixon breathed again then muttered, "I wish I had a drink."

Dean immediately pulled out his flask and handed it to his partner. He knew he was dumping an awful lot on the wolf's plate, all at once, but he desperately wanted and needed his help. The question was, would Dixon believe him and if so would he take it to his council?

"On the move again. When did it stop?" Dixon asked.

"After the slaughter in the chapel he was all over the country then went dormant after hitting Laurence Kansas in nineteen eighty-three."

"Who are we?" Dixon asked of Dean's references to someone else's involvement.

"My father and I." Dean answered then tore the page he'd been drawing on, out of his sketch pad, "Here, this is Azazel." Dean handed him the drawing of Azazel in the meat suit he was wearing when they first encountered him in two thousand and six.

"You are a talent." Dixon commented taking the drawing.

"I've been researching this for years and I've had a lot of help." Dean admitted.

"I meant as an artist." Dixon grinned.

"Oh." Dean coughed awkwardly, "Uhm thanks. Look, this is big." Dean quickly got back to the subject at hand, "This isn't simple slaughter and mayhem for mayhem sake. It's a carefully constructed plan."

"I can see that, but what are they, or he planning?" Dixon asked.

"It could be anything from targeting people to build an army on earth, to starting the Apocalypse. Since he wasn't making deals for souls it's hard to say what he wanted." Dean answered hoping Dixon wouldn't press it.

Dixon took a slow deep breath taking a moment to think before asking, "I must ask how you became involved in this?"

Dean heaved a big sigh and scratched he head. He would have liked to simply claim to be one one of the greatest hunters alive and take a bow but Dixon wouldn't buy that. _How much, how much?_

"In nineteen seventy-three my grandparents, my mother's parents, were in Laurence Kansas investigating demon activity. Azazel killed them both then came back and killed my mother when I was four." Dean kept it short.

"How dreadful." Dixon gasped his eyes wide, "My sincerest condolences, Dean."

"Thank you."

"You were four, but how old was your brother? Did your mother die in his nursery?" Dixon asked connecting the dots.

He was six months and yes, on the ceiling, then the house caught fire." Dean confessed, now very worried.

"Do you know why the demon targeted your mother?" Dixon continued his very polite and gentle interrogation.

"My guess, she impressed him. She was one hell of a hunter. And my dad, they were engaged at the time, was a marine. But then the other people weren't fighters, at least not professionally. It's hard to say, Dix, but I can tell you he picked the wrong family to fuck with." Dean skirted the question relieved that he didn't ask about Sam, "My dad's dedicated his life to hunting that demon and I won't stop till it's dead. My dad may have a way of tracking him. Cass, a friend of mine, is checking into that right now but knowing what town Azazel's in is one thing. Finding him when we get there well be a neat trick."

"Dean, something of this magnitude must be brought to the council and I will need your help to do so." Dixon broke news he was sure Dean would hate. Dean's deep sigh and dropped head told Dixon he was right but the lack of complaint indicated that Dean was resigned to it.

* * *

Sam had been prepared to take Brady in hand but Jessica beat him to it.

"Now that you two aren't snarling at each other I'm going to make a few things very clear." She began in a firm no nonsense voice Sam had come to know very well. "I've always known Sam was trying to shield me from something. I was very angry with him for it and tried to put him out of my life. I liked you a great deal and turned to you hoping hoping something would grow and I could put Sam behind me, but my feelings for you were never more than friendship. A very deep and abiding friendship but still only fiends. I know that hurt you and I deeply regretted it. I don't know how I could be more sincere, but Brady we went over all this before we moved in here."

"This has nothing to do with that." Brady interrupted antagonistically.

"Then what is it about?" Sam demanded angrily.

"It's about you getting Jessica killed." Brady snarled, "If you really love her how can you bringing that thing here."

"For the hundredth time that thing will come whether I'm here or not." Sam said with less hostility, "Because I do love her. Demons read minds. I can't hide it from them so they'll come. I stayed to protect her."

"Brady, we all knew something was watching Sam, that there was a threat, when he moved in." Laura stepped into the fray, "We accepted that. Anything that happens now is on us, not him."

"You overstepped when you told Sam to leave without consulting us." Billy added.

"What's wrong with you?" Brady demanded of them all, "A demon is going to try to kill Jessica and even the mighty demon hunter doesn't think he can stop it. Don't you get that?"

"Believe me we get it." Laura said quietly, a catch in her voice.

But really she didn't. A part of her was having trouble accepting the idea of a death sentence imposed by a demon, or was it just her best girl friend with a death sentence. She looked up at Billy searched his eyes and found that same incredulity. They had lived a year with the memories of Billy's possession, haunting him, waking him up at night in cold sweats. Laura would hear his murmured cries and feel him trembling. She would reach out to him, and comfort him holding him close and let the warmth of her body and her love ease the chill. Billy would cling to her like a life preserver in the middle of a rough sea. He would feel a twinge of guilt for disturbing Laura as her arms would cuddle him closer but she was the only thing that kept the fear and darkness from consuming him.

For all their personal experience there was still a sense of incongruity surrounding the threat to Jessica that they couldn't shake. Yet dreamlike though the menace maybe Laura and Billy felt the weight of it on their hearts.

Sam and Jessica held hands under the table. As Brady continued to demand Sam do something to eliminate the threat and express his lack of faith in Dean's abilities, Jessica's delicate hand would shakily squeeze his. Her shoulders were back, her head high and her words strong and firm but the trembling hand let Sam know that under the bold posture was a great deal of fear. This quarrelling had to stop before Jessica shook apart.

"Enough Brady!" Sam snapped cutting Brady off in the middle of a rant, "You've been saying the same thing over and over again for half and hour. In simple English, what do you want?"

Brady huffed and puffed a moment then finely said, "Leave and take your demons with you."

Jessica's hand clenched Sam's with all her strength.

"How many times do I have to tell you the demon won't follow me." Sam groaned exasperated, "That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that." Brady growled.

"I do." Dean's voice came from the door, while wondering if Brady taught Sam that phrase or Sam taught Brady.

"How can you know?" Brady demanded.

"Because it's his job." Sam declared, "It's what he does."

Silence followed Sam's pronouncement. All eyes fixed on Brady waiting for his response but he didn't seem to have one. He huffed and puffed and squirmed in his seat in great discomfort. Sam's face softened as understanding came to him.

"I get it Brady." He said gently, "You're guts are so twisted in knots the pain's unbearable. You can't just wait for it to come, you have to do something, anything. I know exactly how that feels. I felt like that for over a year now, but I know that the only thing I can do is wait. Wait and hope and pray that when it comes all my, knowledge, training, and skills will be enough to stop it."

Brady's head slowly sank and his hands came up to cover his face. Choking noises came from behind the tightly clamped hands and his shoulders began to shake. Laura's arm slipped around the trembling shoulders and Billy grabbed his hand while Jessica rushed to Brady's side and Sam took the other hand.

Dean gave them a moment before tapping Sam on the shoulder and motioning him to follow. He lead Sam to the front porch where he said goodbye to Dixon who hurried down the lane-way to a long black limousine where a chauffer was waiting with the door open. He was off to the airport and on to Los Vegas to prepare the Illutu leaders for Dean's arrival.

"Nice." Sam chuckled referring to the limo.

"And that guy spent the past four months in the Impala and living in hotels." Dean grinned.

"But not the presidential suite?" Sam added.

Dean laughed but it faded quickly and he turned to Sam his expression both serous and sad, "I'm going with Dixon to Los Vegas. I think we may have screwed up Azazel's plans enough to draw him out. I'm going to try and bring the Barbaru into this. I think dad may have enough information for us to track him. This may …"

"Dad, you're not going to see dad?" Sam gasped.

"No a friend is meeting him."

Sam sighed with relief, "Smart move."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to do the whole birthday thing but…"

"To Hell with the birthday. This is more important." Sam assured him.

"Sam I'm trying, I really am and this house should be a demon free zone but it may not be enough."

"I know." Sam nodded trying to smile to reassure Dean he was facing that fact.

"Sam this summer grab Jessica, take one of my credit cards and show her the time of her life. Take her to Paris, Rome, where ever. Anywhere and everywhere she ever wanted to go. Do it in style, the best of everything and buy her everything that catches her eye. Make her dreams come true." Dean said in all sincerity.

"Dean do you know what you're saying?" Sam gasped in shock and wonder, "That would take I half a dozen of your cards."

"If we do stop Azazel then you will have had the pre honeymoon of a lifetime. Nothing wrong with that? But if we can't then the last months of her life will be the best you can possibly give her." Dean countered but when Sam only stared at him in shock Dean went on, "Sammy, you told me at breakfast, I'm a millionaire and I told you how I did that. Betting the parlay about five to ten thousand a shot with the odds running from a 10 to 1 payout to 20 and 40 to one. I'm doing one sometimes two a month. Think you could spend more than two hundred thousand a month? I don't think so. I'm going to Vegas, I'll get into a couple of high stakes games and drop another half mill in the bank. Feel better?"

"Dean stop, slow down." Sam finely came out of his stupor, "I can't, I couldn't, you're …"

"You can't what?" Dean growled.

"Just take your money and go crazy." Sam said cringing.

"Why not?" Dean groaned.

"It's not my money." Sam cried exasperated, "Do you have any idea how much it would cost to travel all over the world for an entire summer especially if we do it first class?"

"More than a million?" Dean asked fairly sure it wouldn't.

"Probably not but that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Dean growled growing frustrated with Sam's strange values.

"I'm not a kid." Sam cried, "Why is it so hard for you to let me grow up and be a man?"

"What the hell does money have to do with being a man?" Dean demanded in a fit of temper, "Having the courage of your convictions makes you a man, like standing up to dad and leaving home. Sacrificing for the people you love, like breaking up with Jessica. Having the strength to watch her turn to Brady and staying here to face your worst fears. That's what makes you a man Sam, not how much money you have or where it comes from. When has money ever meant anything to anyone in this family? Where do you get these crazy ideas?" He cried throwing his hands up in as if to dismiss the matter, "Sam all your principles and ideals have gotten all screwed up. This is where you measure a man," Dean pointed to his heart and then his head then pulled out his wallet, "Not here."

Sam felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. It wasn't having Dean trying to push him around. He was used to that. It was having the sometimes incredibly juvenile Dean lecture him on being a man and do it so well. Having cheated, stolen and gambled to survive all his life Dean placed little or no value on money. His current wealth was no more than a convenience to him. He laughed and joked about his status as a millionaire like a big kid with a new toy. The only thing he took seriously was the skill he used to acquire it. But Sam could not take it so lightly. To lawfully own what was his was a deep and abiding need.

"Dean, do you know that I keep an account of how many hours I spend looking after cards, paying your bills and taxes and everything?" Sam said trying to explain, "But do you know why?" Dean squirmed and shrugged, "To keep track, so I know how hard I'm working. To calculate the hourly rate and compare it to what a money manager would earn. So I can feel like what I have is really mine. It's knowing I earned it, feeling like it really is mine. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Not really." Dean admitted sadly, he did want to understand his brother but to him ownership was a relative concept that didn't figure into his lifestyle, "I'm sorry I wish I did but I just don't get it. But it isn't about you or what you own or any of that shit. Damn it Sam it's about Jessica. About giving her something special, just in case. That's the only thing that matters right now."

If they managed to kill Azazel before November Sam would be more than pissed at Dean but he could live with that. If they didn't, a summer of making all Jessica's fantasies come true would provide Sam with solace. Poor comfort true but comfort. Dean watched Sam's face twist, pucker and twitch as different unpleasant emotions danced across his face until finely all resistance faded away and Sam silently nodded his acceptance. Dean threw his arms around his little brother giving him a big bear hug.

"This isn't my hard earned income it's fun and easy money I don't deserve." Dean whispered in his ear, "Just think, when everything turns out okay you can scowl at me for years to come not to mention pissing me off by paying me back after you become a rich lawyer."

"You're damned right I will." Sam returned a forced smile on his face but with a sadness in his eyes.

Dean smiled back reassuringly assuring him that in recruiting his partners society to hunt Azazel the odds of saving Jessica were skyrocketing, but something deep inside needled at Dean warning that he was offering false hope. He said his final goodbyes and jumped into the Impala hurrying away from that needle.

* * *

***As the barometric pressure shifts from high to low the weather becomes more active and perhaps even stormy.**

********The parlay is a form of sports betting and the odds and payouts are as described, how ever the possibility of the type of accuracy and success Dean is experiencing can only be achieved with knowledge of the future.**

*********Shelly Winters' bizarrely twisted portrayal of ********Kate**** "Ma" Barker** in "Bloody Mama" was less than accurate. Though her sons committed robberies, kidnappings, and other crimes there is no evidence that she ever participated much less masterminded anything. She knew of the gang's activities, and even helped them before and after however her role was in taking care of gang members, who often sent her to the movies while they **were 'working'. However Dean wouldn't know that.  
**


	32. Chapter 32 The Summit

**I'm back, but still don't own them, sigh.**

* * *

**Chapter 32**

**The Summit**

Dean took a moment to enjoy the ambiance of the casino lobby. The air was so alive with excitement it tingled his skin. He could smell the thrill of possibilities that emanated from the crowded room and everyone was a potential mark. It didn't matter how much money Dean had in the bank, the game would always be a powerful draw. The drawback with Vegas was trying to find the right pigeon to pluck. In the back room of a bar or roadhouse it was easy to find a dick who needed to be brought down a peg but the casinos of sin city were full of foolish vulnerable tourists who, unbeknownst to them were miles out of their league and those he wasn't interested in fleecing. There was neither pleasure nor pride in fleecing a man of his family's vacation, or his retirement saves or worse, his family's home. Dean gave the room the once over then, frustrated with the forest hiding the trees decided to go with his original idea of having Dixon set him up for a couple of high stakes poker games. He had no idea how much Sam would be spending over the summer but was determined his little brother would not run into any insufficient funds problems.

"Mr. Winchester?" a vaguely familiar voice intruded on his thoughts.

Dean turned to find a suited gentleman waiting calmly for him to take notice. It took a few moments for the face to register. Garrick the polite man who received him at the manor. Dixon brings servants to Vegas with him?

"Hey what brings you here?" Dean greeted him.

"I'm a member of Mr. Channing's security. I hope you had a pleasant journey." He answered and reached out for Dean's duffel bag, "Would you please follow me, Sir.?"

'Now this has to be the politest muscle I've ever met.' Dean thought as he handed over his bag, "Fine, lead the way."

Garrick lead Dean to the penthouse suite explaining that the Belu was on his way. Jasper was waiting to take Dean's bag, hoped he had a pleasant journey, and offered him a drink. Dean's response was 'Just point me at the bar' The idea of having a butler waiting on him hand and foot was fun but a polite little drink when he need a damned good stiff shot, wasn't. He asked if Jasper could get him a quick bite to eat instead and was told Belu had order lunch and it would arrive shortly. Having arrived in the middle of the afternoon Dean wasn't expecting to find Dixon waiting for him but should have expected him to be prepared. Dean took a moment to take in his surroundings. A penthouse suite in a top Vegas casino. Expansive and lavish, not as lavish as Dixon's apartment but decidedly rich, and, …. generic. With only Dixon's apartments in Pennsylvania as a true comparison perhaps he was being unfair, he thought. Compared to his usual accommodations this was the lap of luxury, a palace, with it's glass tables and plush sofas. A table in the middle of the room just to put a plant on, maybe a little excessive. Dean sat in the middle of the rich white sofa, put his feet up on the glass coffee table and looked around. All white and shinny and, …, and boring. Dixon's apartment not only cried wealth but was a reflection of it's owner. Upon finding out how old Dixon was the murals on the walls and the pillars suddenly made sense. That was what made Dixon's place so much more impressive. It said Dixon. This place just said penthouse suite. Dean had been in cheep hotel rooms that had more character. Dean's eyes strayed to the hall and door. Hopefully upon receiving word he had entered Vegas Dixon began the prep for the council meeting. Dean didn't have a lot of time to wonder before Dixon swept into the room calling to Jasper about lunch and inviting Dean to join him at the dinning table. He thought better of it and moved the lunch to the little table near the window where Dean would be more comfortable and placed a folder beside Dean's place.

"Are you exhausted from your trip?" he asked.

"Not much. Food and a beer will pick me up." Dean answered, 'Aw yes, a bacon cheeseburger with fries, bless you Dixon'.

Dean had all but stopped drinking in the morning, rarely had more than a few bear on a hunt, well one shot at bed time … sometimes, and was down to only a couple of shots at night between jobs. He was actually proud of himself for it. But talking to the council was definitely a bracer requiring event followed by a beer or two with lunch.

"What you have there is a brief dossier on each of the primary council members." Dixon got right to work, "You've already met most of them. I couldn't call a Quorum when I arrived yesterday evening which may be fortunate. Silly to try really. We want as many council members on our side before we even begin. I have arranged a meeting with select members after lunch."

"Quorum?" Dean asked.

"The minimum number of representatives trquired to vote is called a quorum." Dixon explained a point of procedure, "I can command my own Illutu to a particular hunt and even the American Illutu with little difficulty but to bring them all into this matter requires a call to arms." Dean's eyebrows rose, "Not literally. But it gives the Sultanu, the Rubu, absolute power to speak."

"Sultanu, king? Rubu, absolute ruler." Dean translated, "You guys have a king? So do we have to dance through some hoops?"

"Yes, the only way around seeking a Call To Arms from the Quorum is a formal Declaration Of War by the Sultanu, which I'm hoping to avoid."

"Wait." Dean said thinking out loud, "One man is easier to convince than a room full of people."

"Dean, I'm a politician not a worrier."

Dean put down his burger and focused on his partner only two feet from him, "That was a joke, right? I've seen you in a fight. You're a lethal weapon."

"Allow me to rephrase, I'm not a general." Dixon said putting down his own food and giving Dean his undivided attention, "In a Call To Arms, the Sultanu gives his directives to the Belu without requiring council approval. The Belu remains in control of his Illutu and implements Sultanu's directives. In a Declaration Of War the Belu becomes a subordinate who may not act without orders."

"Okay, I get it, you don't want to have to go running to your king over every little move we make. Not a good idea." Dean nodded his understanding but Dixon leaned back in his seat and sighed still very much in distress, "What am I missing. You afraid of what your king is going to do?"

"No Dean, I have nothing to fear from our king, **I** am Sultanu."

Dean sat back in his chair stymied shaking his head a moment them asked, "You're king of what exactly?"

"Two hundred and thirty-seven Illutu of between twenty-five to fourty subjects each. Little more than five thousand, a small village if you will." Dixon down played his status, "I managed the Call To Arms during the Inquisition rather well if I do say so myself but the last war was under my brother's reign. When Marcus Aurelius waged war on the world we were in constant danger of being exposed. There were even times when we had to engage the Roman soldiers . Niphu was a natural leader. He could take command of any situation, make the decisions and others be damned. But I'm a statesmen, an arbitrator, lord knows what all. But I am not a general."

"I don't know…." Dean stammered reeling from the revelation. A king, damned guy's a king?

Kings were people who lived in castles and grand manor houses in the countryside. People bowed and never looked them in the eye and called him Sire and Your Royal Highness. Kings made grand decrees and speeches in congress or was that parliament. They didn't play darts and drink beer and pick up girls in bars. They sure as hell didn't drive around the country in an Impala and call him mate. But this one did. This one laughed with him, talked to him as an equal and had his back every time. This one even argued with him as an equal and took orders when needed without complaint. '_The guy's my friend and partner.' _To hell with the whole king shit. Kings didn't belong in the United States anyway.

"Look I don't know shit about being a king or anything like that Dix, but I do know about generals and world conquerors and all that shit." Dean struggled to offer his friend some support while feeling completely out of his depth, "What I got from all my studies is that it's not about knowing what to do or having all the answers. It's about being willing to make the decision and accepting the consequences."

He finished thinking how lame is that, but a smile crept across Dixon's face and Dean felt a little better about his limited understanding of kingship.

"I don't know why I doubted you." Dixon said with a great show of relief, "I was afraid you'd be angry with me for not telling you and possibly for not acting more aggressively on your behalf." he confessed.

"Oh dude I am totally pissed and when we have the time I am ripping you a new one." said Dean then thought a moment, "On the other hand being king can be called a political thing in which case I told you, 'not my business'." Dean thought again, "No, I need to know who I'm hunting with. Yep ripping into you."

"No you did know you were driving with a Barbaru who was your junior partner and that is the extent of it when we're on the road." Dixon rallied his moping over.

But Dean's attention was already elsewhere.

"Wait, Niphu? Your brother's name was 'sun disk'." Dean grinned, "What was yours?"

Dixon's eyes narrowed but he answered, "Tasiltu."

"What, Glory, Magnificence?" Dean laughed translating the name into English.

"Celebration." Dixon growled, "And Dean mean's leader of men in Hebrew. What of it?"

"Leader of men? Hey I like that." Dean cheered, "But Celebration, hey my name is Celebration. You have me sympathies dude."

"It was a fine name that people enjoyed." Dixon countered nose elevating, "A person was expected to grow into their name. A name like Leader Of Men would put a ruddy burden of responsibilities and expectations a boy that could break him."

Dean's smile slipped as he answered, "Been there, done that. Speaking of. Who do I have to win over here and please don't tell me, the dick at the end of the table at the council meeting."

"No bloody chance there." Dixon accepted the change of subject though reluctantly.

There was something in the way Dean's eyes lowered and the smile turned sad that tugged at Dixon's heart. There was the everyday sad that came with a tea spoon of regret and then there was a sadness that pierced the heart with a terrible ache. Dixon had seen shadows of that sadness in Dean over the past months and it never sat well with him. But this was not the time to pursue such matters. There was a far more urgent one at hand. Something ominous threatening the human world and the Barbaru had to be a part of the solution, for where they not part of this world too? Dixon took the approach of briefing Dean on the strengths and weakness of the council members who would be present leaving it to Dean to decide how to deal with them. He had done so well at the last meeting Dixon thought Dean needed nothing more. The only thing needed now was word from Lena that the most important council member had arrived at which point he would be expected to call the meeting to order within the hour. They continued their discussion of primary council members until Lena greeted Dean warmly, putting a smile on his face.

"At least we'll have one friend at the meeting." he said.

"I won't be in attendance." Lena informed him with a smirk, "Belu, Philip has arrived."

"Philip, that's the guy with all the pull?" Dean asked of a council member Dixon had been constantly referring back to.

"Yes, the one person who was considered for Sultanu when Simtu died." Dixon confirmed.

"Simtu, that's worse than Dean." Dean mused.

"Pardon me?" Lena asked.

"Simtu, fate, destiny, the nature of things, however you translate it it's hard to live up to." Dean explained.

"It's what Simtu means." Dixon added a frown on his face when Lena continue to look puzzled, "Are you not speaking Sumerian until noon every day?"

"Of course, I simply didn't understand the reference." She rolled her eyes at Dixon, that he should even have to ask, "Why is fate worse than Dean?"

"Dean means leader of men in Hebrew." Dean answered still pleased by the fact.

"Really?" Lena responded feigning skepticism with a wicked gleam, then mused, "I wonder if Lena means anything."

"Greek, derived from Helena means the bright one. In Latin, it's alluring." Dean answered, "Pick one."

"I think I'll take both." Lena grinned both pleased and surprised that Dean didn't take the opportunity to return fire.

"Hey, why can't you be at the meeting." Dean asked annoyed that his one other ally wouldn't be there to offer support.

"Dean, I'm just eight hundred and eighty seven."

"Really, I wouldn't have pegged you for a day over six hundred." Dean snarked.

"Mr. Winchester, our aging begins to slow at puberty. We consider our selves lucky if we look twenty five by our first millennia." Lena sniffed, "I'm one of the more fortunate ones."

"Whow, they stopped carding me when I was seventeen." Dean chuckled, "Yah, I guess, most girls would consider it luck to look eighteen when they're your age."

Lena wrinkled her nose at his deliberate misunderstanding and sniffed, "You should shower, you stink."

Dean made a display of sticking his nose in the air and sniffed back, "You weren't any rose after a day in the car either." Then called for Jasper to show him to his room.

Lena fussed with her hair while looking in a mirror and asked Dixon, "I don't look eighteen, do I?"

"I'd place you in your early twenties." Dixon answered absently, "Lena, what mood would you say he was in. Annoyed, curious, guarded?"

"Puzzled, I think." she gave her best guess.

Dixon looked down the hall Jasper had taken Dean and sighed, "Please, Dean, be brilliant."

* * *

Dixon knocked on the bathroom door as soon as he heard the shower turn off. Dean called that he'd be a few minutes which meant he was putting on the make up. Lena's parting comment kept running through Dixon's head. _'You know what Philip will say. He's to pretty to be a warrior.'_ She was right and so after changing he sat on Dean's bed and waited. Philip like all members of the council was born and raised in a time when pretty may have been appreciated in a young man, in some cultures prized, but not on a warrior. Dean would not take this advice well, he might refuse it all together. The fact that he never allowed himself to be seen even hiding his face from Dixon if he happened in unexpected spoke volumes on how he felt about his scars. He dared ask Dean only once how he came by them. Dean replied that's private. The finality in his voice and the hard set of his eyes left no room for doubt, the subject was closed. But Dixon had to try, Dean was after all human and would not be forgiven the lack of battle honours.

"I wish to discuss your makeup with to you." Dixon shouted through the door, "Please, don't put it on."

After a brief silence Dean unlocked the door. Dixon found him resting against the vanity the right side of his face hidden from the door. Dixon noticed this but was momentarily distracted by Dean's powerful arms, his magnificently cut chest and rock hard abs. The vision stole his breath, made his heart pound and his hands twitch with the desire to touch. Dixon was usually able to keep his passions under control but at moments like this, Dean in a towel, it was so very hard.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"Sorry, you're a little distracting at the moment." Dixon grinned.

Dean's brows knitted a moment then he grabbed his jeans and turning his back pulled them on. The movement brought the towel down before Dean had his jeans up giving Dixon a brief view of his backside. 'Perfect', Dixon thought then quickly stored the image away for future perusal. The jeans were only mildly less distracting but by the time Dean was again leaning against the vanity Dixon had himself under control.

"Dean, all the people at the meeting today are from my … era." Dixon said, his expression growing serious, "We were all raised in a time when war was very physical and organized. An army marched in a tight formation shields locked and they slammed into the enemy."

"Yah a phalanx." Dean nodded.

"Yes you're familiar with the history." Dixon acknowledged.

"Yah, the history of war."

"The strongest and bravest were in the front and of course they were often wounded and killed. It was virtually impossible to stand in that line and not be marred in some way." Dixon continued intent on making his point, "One only had to look at a man's face, his arms or chest to know where in the battle he fought. The soft smooth faced boys had to have been in the rear or worse, to escape unscathed. A warrior at that time wore his battle scars with pride. It wasn't until this century that any effort has been made to remove or minimise battle scars. World War One I believe. The advancement of the application of war lagging far behind the science resulted in medical science progressing in leaps and bounds. With the medical facilities so close to the front lines many patients were reaching the surgeons alive raising the question of how to rebuild these men's bodies. Reconstructive surgery lead to plastic surgery and so you have it. But in our time we wouldn't even think of hiding much less removing scars."

"I haven't seen any scars on you." Dean pointed out a contradiction.

"It's the way we heal, completely." Dixon sighed and Dean would have sworn with regret, "I was fifteen the first time I saw war. I managed to fight my way into the heat of it, in my elder brother's wake of course. I had a wonderful battle wound that ran from my chin to my ear. I strutted about making a grand display of it but it healed completely within weeks. I was humiliated of course and completely mortified. After a long chat with my brother I began to understand how he could be in a place of honour yet still had his boyish face. It was shortly after that my brother warned me to hide any mortal wounds. Surviving a mortal wound could make people start whispering god."

"Which would be a bad thing?" Dean asked.

"The priests and priestesses in the cities temples were found of putting new gods through tests that no human could survive which was the point of course, But a Barbaru?" Dixon paused and in his eyes a haunted memory momentarily took hold of him. He was looking at something, witnessing a horror, not living it, "We can be killed Dean, but not easily. There are things, though, a man can be put through one would not want to survive. Things that can destroy the mind."

"I know what you mean." Dean shuttered as memory threatened him but he quickly jumped on the lid of the well keeping it shut.

Witnessing Dean's reaction to his words Dixon feared the hunter knew too well what he was talking about.

"More to the point." Dixon quickly returned the subject to where it started, "Our first few generations of Barbaru were born and grew to maturity in a human villages. For hundreds years of our existence we migrated all over Mesopotamia, Persia, the Mediterranean, Egypt, Asia and Europe looking for more of our kind all living growing up with humans and human attitudes. The people in this conference still reflect the attitudes of those times. No makeup today Dean. It will impress."

Dean's head sank and shook ever so slightly. Dixon moved to stand in front of him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Though he had come to know Dean well there were still parts of himself the hunter kept hidden. Those most vulnerable parts which Dean denied even having.

"What is it?" Dixon asked gently.

"Dude, even I don't like looking at me." Dean admitted with a reluctant smile.

"I can't imagine why. You have such a beautiful face."

Dean's head jerked up, his eyebrows raised, as he looked at Dixon and asked, "This face, like this?"

"Of course."

The eye brows did not fall and Dean folded his arms across his chest his expression crying 'Bullshit'.

"Well it is." Dixon insisted somewhat indignantly, "I Bloody well think so. Damned beautiful. What of it?" He turned and took a couple of steps to the door sniffed and said in parting, "With makeup they'll think you're far to pretty to be a true warrior, without you'll impress." and shut the door behind him.

Dean tried to look at himself as a stranger would. To see only the surface. The worms on his face had long since settled down and turned into pale red lines of…. well they were, red lines. Really it wasn't as bad as it used to be. Still it was hard having his, ….., his what?

'_They're just scars, not a window into my soul!'_

"Suck it up you pathetic wus." he snarled at himself and took up the pomade.

The product was supposed to make his hair healthy, shiny and more controllable. There was a reason he always kept his hair short and dad snarling at him wasn't the only one. His hair was so fine that it just hung there limp without a lot of work. It was so easy to just give it a quick comb then rub a little gel in the front and push it up. Clean cut, (the only thing about him that was) yet stylish and with the times. Now it was push it this way and that and a little more here and make it look tossed like he just got out of bed. Fuss, fuss, fuss, Dean rubbed the gel into his hand them carded it through his hair pushing it all back, teased it at the roots the way Devlin taught him, give it a little crunching because 'God forbid it look styled and perfect'. Dean rolled his eyes as the eccentric pharmacist's voice sounded in his head. (The memory recall techniques had become second nature, a reflex, anything he thought about came back clear and crisp. It was trying, particularly when people like Devlin with all his antics popped into his head.) With his forehead exposed Dean paused to look at the great snake which began at the hairline to one side of his forehead, ran through his hair and slithered along the hairline behind his ear. It was the only scar that Dr. Foss had not tried to repair nor did it receive Quradu cream treatment as it tended to cause hair loss. It was still very much a snake. Some scars take years to fade even a little and some never do. With his hair pulled back and fluffed the snake could be seen if one looked close enough.

"There, in all my glory." Dean sighed.

He pulled on his nicest jeans and the burgundy shirt Dixon said was so attention getting. He hoped the wolf meant that in a good way. He paused to take one last look in the mirror. It was such a relief to not have his hair tickling his forehead, so much more comfortable and required a lot less fussing. Once more he reminded himself that it was just his face then marched out the door head high and shoulders back. He didn't wait for Dixon's reaction and began looking for his jacket.

Dixon held it up, "Looking for this?"

"Yah thanks." Dean smiled and reached for it.

"It's really not appropriate." Dixon surprised him.

"I thought I was supposed to present myself in all my battle scared wonder." He said.

"Yes of course, I'm simply saying this is an out door jacket. One of some sentimental value I imagine?" Dixon asked carefully draping it over his arm.

"Damned right, it was my dad's." Dean answered reaching for it.

"We are going to a conference room on this floor. This would not be appropriate and as it happens, I bought you a present for Beltaine. A jacket." Dixon finished and waited for a response.

After a confused moment Dean asked, "A who for what?"

"Beltaine, a festival of spring we've been celebrating for three thousand odd years." Dixon explained, "It begins May 1st but I thought I'd give you your gift early. Jasper." He called his butler, "Have this cleaned and returned by the end of the day and see if these repairs can be improved upon."

"Just a minute Dix." Dean moved to stop him.

"Those are from the wendigo. The hunt in which we first crossed paths." Dixon interrupted, "We burst in on you and caused that damage. I should have offered to repair or replace it long ago. Replacing is out of the question, however." Dixon took a black jacket from Jasper who quietly retreated with Dean's jacket, "As a token of my appreciation for, teaching me all that you have and for all tense and purposes making me your partner, I have had this made for you." and he presented Dean with a soft black leather jacked, styled like a diner jacked with smooth trim lines.

Dean shifted a little awkward when faced with such sentimentality, "This is,… Well this is beautiful. But a present really …."

"I didn't fully understand what I was asking when I first approached you for training. I never realized how much more work and risk hunting was for humans. I realize now that it was no small thing. Compared to what you've done for me this is a small token indeed." Dixon spoke from the heart hitting him with something he knew Dean had difficulty with, sentiment, "I also appreciate the faith and trust you've shown by bringing me into this fight."

"By bringing you in on this I put you in the line of fire." Dean addressed the only thing he felt comfortable dealing with, "And I don't just mean with your people, Your Highness. Right now you guys aren't hunting demons so they don't bother with you. The reward for anyone who helps me is a target on their back."

Dixon lay the jacket over the back of a chair, walked over to the bar and poured two drinks. The finest scotch money could by. This wasn't the time he had planned for this discussion but perhaps it should have been. He was grateful to Dean for so many things and the hunter, **should** know about it, **needed** to know about it.

"Do you know what I've been for oh, perhaps a thousand years now?" Dixon asked with a sad smile. Dean took a seat at the bar, raised his drink to him indicating he should go on, "An administrator and part time hunter. I deal with finances, investments and corporate matters. Dean we have existed a long time and have amassed enormous amounts of wealth. I over see it's management very much as a business man. I am also the arbitrator of conflicts between Illutu, and play an intricate part in the dismantling of outdated laws and establishment of new ones. I hunt beasts that have not presented any great risk to my kind in a thousand years, well near anyway. We don't count the number of deaths in a year Dean but in a century. Nasaru Barbaru. Guardian wolves indeed. I had forgotten what a challenge is, what it felt like to triumph, what it meant to be the protector of this world. You have reminded me. I feel like a warrior again."

"Glad to have been of service." Dean said with a warm smile and raised his glass in toast, "Welcome to the team, partner."

Dixon helped Dean into his jacket. Bold colours suited him and the leather jacket suited his personality. Dixon had Jasper contact the shop where Dean bought his designer suit to insure the jacket was perfectly tailored and it was very flattering indeed. From the way Dean admired himself in the mirror he agreed but the smile disappeared for a moment. Dixon knew what he was looking at but that would pass. One day Dean would see himself as Dixon did. He would see to it.

Dixon clapped him on the shoulder and the smile returned, "Enough of that then. There is nothing more insufferable that a handsome man who knows how bloody gorgeous he is." Dean flushed only a little and laughed easily as he clapped Dixon on the back and headed out the door.

Relaxed, at ease, not flustered or embarrassed. He was growing comfortable with flattery and admiration from a man. Promising, so very promising, Dixon thought and truly began to hope, even believe he could have his hearts desire, for there was no lying to himself any more. He was falling in love with Dean Winchester. Dixon heaved a big sigh and squared his shoulders as they stood before the door to the conference room. He could not allow personal matters to come to mind, he had to be completely professional or some might read it in his eyes and that could taint his every word. Garrick and his partner Heith opened the doors and the room inside fell silent as all rose for their King.

No one moved from the sitting area where they were gathered, but watched in silence as Dixon lead Dean to an enormous round table at one end of the room. The council took a moment to gather their drinks before following.

Dean's eyebrows raised as he looked at the table then Dixon.

"The round table?" He asked pointedly.

"Later." Dixon answered which meant there was a story there.

"Over pizza and beer?" Dean grinned.

"Absolutely." Dixon grinned back.

Either Dean was taking the same approach with this meeting as he had with the last or he was putting up a magnificent front. Dixon didn't know whether the blustering approach would intrigue or offend Philip. He liked a man who stood tall and held his ground, or perhaps a better description would be respected. Interest, guarded interest was all Dixon could see in Philip. Dixon held up one hand and everyone fell silent. He lowered the hand and everyone sat quietly, watching waiting. Not even Malcolm made a sound.

"Members of the Primary council. Some of you have already met Dean Winchester and all have you have been following our exploits." Dixon began his address, "I left with this man to learn about hunting spirits and demons and have learned a great deal more. I have learned of a threat looming over us greater than any we have ever faced and for that reason I have called for a Quorum to make a Call To Arms.

"The threat is a powerful demon who thirty years ago put a grand plan into motion the exact nature of which we are unclear about. In a convent in Ilchester Maryland…"

Dixon gave them the complete run down as Dean had given it to him including the explanation of how demons are created, and supported everything with documentation from the research department. Dean was impressed until Dixon finished by opening the floor to questions and turning the meeting over to him.

* * *

***I am unable to respond to your reviews, the exact nature of the problem escapes me. The links simply will not work for me. I've had this happen before and was able to fix it but not this time. I apologize to all my readers for having not responded your kind and generous reviews and thank you deeply for your input and encouragement. **


	33. Chapter 33 Round One

**I don't own Supernatural, Sam or Dean.**

* * *

**Chapter 33**  
**Round One**

Dixon took his seat but Dean did not stand. He looked around from face to face, raised both hands in a questioning gesture and waited. Dixon did not allow his expression to change. He hoped this rather disrespectful behaviour was apart of a plan to win the council.

"Well? I admit that was a hell of a good breakdown of the situation but someone here must have a question or two." Dean prodded but no one spoke.  
"They are waiting for you to stand." Dixon explained, perhaps he just didn't understand, "It's protocol. All speakers must stand to be recognized."  
"Well ladies and gentlemen I'm not a member of this council, I'm a hunter." Dean began thinking this could get complicated. He had hoped a simple hunter approach with a little bluster would work as it had before but if they're going to get all formal….., "Our rules are pretty loose and basic. Whoever calls the others to the hunt is in charge. Everyone gives what they can to the plan usually with some loud voices thrown in for effect and then the hunt. We don't stand on formality, pun intended."

Wow a couple actually smiled. He pulled himself to his feet. Behind Dixon sat his secretary, a rather plain looking gentleman thirty something in appearance who looked like a business executive. A few feet behind him was a table with a coffee urn, tea service and assorted h'orderves. Dean whispered to Dixon to keep the coffee coming.

"From whom did you learn of this plot?" Malcolm asked the moment Dean came to his feet.  
"I've been researching this for years. Not just one source." Dean answered dismissively, "Anything else."  
"So this plot is something of your own creation." Malcolm said with a grin.  
"Were you not listening?" Dean groaned, "It was all laid out for you by Dixon."

Philip, a distinguished looking gentleman in a three piece suit was watching them his eyes flickering from Dixon and Dean to Malcolm and back again with great curiosity. Emotion flickered across his face when Dean shot back at Malcolm but Dean couldn't say what it was. Dixon didn't seem alarmed. Philip raised his hand effectively silencing Malcolm. Dean was amazed anyone could do that and a little worried by the fact.

"You contend that these events were caused by a," Philip paused and grinned disdainfully, "A demon?"  
"I don't contend I know and state it as fact." Dean replied.  
"Have you met many demons?" Philip asked his grin growing.  
"Yah, killed a few." Dean smiled back.  
"Do they have horns and a tail." Philip asked.  
Dean's eyes narrowed and his face turned to stone as he forced himself to answer in a semblance of a respectful tone, "Gargoyles have horns and a tail but they are cambion and for the record, green not red. Anyone else got a question?"  
Unimpressed by Dean's response Philip asked, "I see. Can you tell me what demons look like? I understand we are looking for a pretty girl who is supposed to be a demon."  
"That pretty girl is a human being possessed by a demon." Dean replied managing to contain his temper, "I think Dixon mentioned that. A serious question anyone?"  
Growing angry himself, Philip demanded, "Have you no respect?"  
"You want my respect show me some." Dean snapped back.  
"Do you have any idea how old I am?" Philip asked coming to his feet.  
"I couldn't care less how old you are," Dean returned, "A man can live a thousand years and be as stupid as the day he was born if he doesn't learn and people who think they know it all never do."  
"Really?" Philip said his mocking smile returning but his eyes cold as ice, "And you are going to teach us? Can we teach you anything young man?" he asked his voice dripping with scorn.  
"The smartest man in the room is the one that knows he has a few things to learn and dude that sure as hell isn't you, so stop wasting my time." Dean fired back without hesitation, "Does anyone have a question about Azazel and what he has planned for this world. The one you live in? You are the Nasiru Barbaru right, the Guardian Wolves."

Philip's scornful expression turned cold and hard as he turned his attention to Dixon who had been sitting expressionless throughout the exchange. Dean felt bad for his partner but didn't know another way he could have dealt with it without appearing weak. He had taken the only approach he knew when dealing with hunters. Direct and to the point and take no bullshit from anyone. One sign of weakness and all would abandon ship, sinking it with him on board. Throwing a few of Pastor Jim's favourite sayings, ones his dad never seemed to fully appreciate, didn't seem to be working on them either Dixon said he needed to present himself as a warrior. Will this was the only warrior persona he knew. Kick the door down and charge in.

"What do you know of the Nasiru" Philip demanded of Dean.  
"Ka tabrat ayyu adnatu tubu idu kima sina kasapu ka balut hakamu ittimma allu saidade idu mina ka baru." Dean replied.

'You'd be surprised what people will say when they think you don't understand, besides a hunter knows what he sees.'

"How do you know our language?" Philip demanded jumping to his feet.  
"I speak read and write over two dozen languages including several dead ones, one of which is Akkadian. Not a big leap to Sumerian." Dean barked back, "You had no secrets from me before I even left Scranton with Dixon here."

Philip sat back silently staring at the enigma that stood before him. He was particularly arrogant and self assured for one so young. Dixon described him as a talented hunter and true warrior. 'We shall see,' he mused, 'We shall see.'

"Your face?" Philip asked and saw Dixon flinch, "Do you credit it to a demon?"  
Deans eyes dropped as did his voice, "Yah."  
"Is it destroyed?" He asked.  
"No, it's the little blond girl and before you ask yah hunting her is very personal." Dean freely admitted, "My dad came out of it even worse than I did. So I have one hell of a score to settle. But she also happens to be Azazel's daughter so finding her works for everybody."  
"You are Quradu?" Philip continued his interrogation without much pause.  
"Yes." Dean answered.  
"And you're father?" Philip pressed.  
"No, he's not." Dean answered and dropped to his seat.

Philip grinned amused and raised his hands questioningly but Dean didn't give him time to enjoy his triumph if that was what he thought he had.

"What is this bullshit? He demanded from his seat, "Are we doing the job application crap again? Dixon already put all this shit in his reports so what kind of game are we playing?"  
"You are here on our King's recommendation and our suffrage." Philip barked jumping to his feet, "Do not press you luck human."  
"Do you threaten my guest, Philip?" Dixon stood and asked incredulously.

Philip choked and sputtered a moment taken about by Dixon's indignation but he recovered quickly.

"That was not my intention, Sire" he said with a bow of his head and retook his seat.  
Dean was expecting Dixon to give them all a good dressing down but it didn't come. He gestured to Dean to take the floor.

"Look some of you were at the first meeting, you've heard the whole demon's are lecture and I'm sure you all read Dixon's reports so either he's lying or there really is a demon threat." Dean took a different approach, he could actually hear them holding their breath, "I think you know your King well enough by now that you're not going to call him a liar." Dean focused on Philip, he was just guessing but he was pretty sure there was a history between him and Dixon, "Come on, you know he's not jerking you around so you have to take this and me seriously."

"Mr. Winchester, the reports we received stated you are a hunter, descended of hunters?" Philip began and Dean nodded saying that was right, "And they have all fought demons?"  
"Yes, my mother and grandparents hunted demons as well as vampires, werewolves and any other evil thing they found but they were killed by a demon. The one I'm hunting as a matter of fact." Dean answered politely.  
"This girl?" Philip asked.  
"No, her father." He corrected.  
"Demons have parents?"  
"Went to hell on the family plan, Dixon …"  
"Yes of course. Demons are humans who've been to hell. There must be millions of demons then." Philip fumbled but recovered quickly.

Dean could see he was struggling, trying to believe and trust, not him but Dixon, but there was so much for the Barbaru to accept and process all at once. As frustrating as their hesitation and doubt was Dean had to be understanding. Not his best thing but he was trying.

"Not every human who goes to hell has the option of becoming a demon." Dean having had this question himself explained patiently, "It's a very exclusive club which is the only reason we're not knee deep in demons."  
"In my over six thousand years I have never seen a demon. And in the time our King has traveled with you he has not seen one. Can you understand how I might question this?" Philip said as diplomatically as was possible considering what he was saying, "Have you any evidence of demons that we may study?"

Dean put a firm hand on Dixon's shoulder stopping him from rising to his feet. The guy had a point, sort of. Dean began feeling a little on edge. The tension in the room was thick and he was having trouble filtering out the anxiety around him. In search of greater calm Dean took in a little heat and grinned when Dixon turned to his aid and demanded salt.

"It's just me cooling my head." Dean said with a grin, "Good reflexes though." He couldn't help smiling at the puzzled expression on Dixon and made a mental note to explain his temper management practices, "Philip is it?" the man nodded, "Everything you hunt is none human. No disrespect intended sir but that's because you're isolated, separated from the human world. You can't find something that doesn't fit if you don't understand or know what is normal for people. That's why the Quradu was created. You can hunt animals because you've …."  
"I will not sit in silence and listen to insults from this human" Malcolm wailed in disgust, expecting to be called an animal.  
"Why don't you wait for me to say something insulting before you blow, chuckles?" Dean snarled with a smirk.

Dean couldn't see it but Philip didn't miss Dixon's unsuccessful attempt to suppress a grin. The grin vanished when Malcolm jumped to his feet growling. Dixon slowly rose to his feet despite Dean's restraining hand.

"Finish that sentence I dare you before us all, say it." Malcolm challenged.  
Dean turned a serous expression to Philip and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "You can hunt animals because you've studied them, you know their patterns of behaviour and you can predict, and … well you get what I'm saying." Dean finished the sentence then began walking round the table addressing the entire council making eye contact, trying to draw them in, "People are more complex with more intricate patterns of behaviour but still predictable. They may seem crazy to you, hell I think people are crazy, but there is a normal you can track. But you're not going to spot the abnormal if you don't know what that normal is. And you sure as hell aren't going to spot it if you're not looking for it.  
"Take a close look at the profile of the priest who slaughtered the nuns in Ilchester." Dean gently took charge as he slowly continued his walk around the table, "You'll see that he has no history of violence or mental illness. All violent criminals have a history." Dean began to draw on bits and pieces he'd picked up on TV about murders, "People all said Gacy was a great guy and were shocked about the murders but when the cops started going through his past he was anything but clean. This priest was basically a normal kid who began studying social work then went to the seminary in his second year. All of a sudden, out of no where, he butchers eight nuns? Does not happen. He said it himself that he was possessed."

Philip nodded thoughtfully as other members exchanged contemplative whispers and for the first time since they walked into the room Dean saw true progress. Dixon had said Philip was the key. If they could win him over the others would follow and Dean began to believe. As he passed each council member he was able to reach through the buzz and sense their mood. It wasn't clearly defined as people's feelings were but he could sense shifts in mood and stress levels and each case was supported by body language. He had their interest and it was not casual. Some were growing concerned, even worried about what he was saying. No one was bored or amused. Not even Malcolm but for the first time some of his hostility was directed at Dean.

"Do you know what this demon is planning." One Councillor asked, "Or any demon is planning. Are they predictable."

Dean remembered her from the first meeting. A well of annoying questions but attentive to the subject at hand and not completely unreasonable.

"Oh don't encourage him." Malcolm groaned then sneered, "Since when do human's need an excuse for violence and madness." He huffed, "Possession."  
"They can be predictable, but only to a point." Dean answered ignoring Malcolm, "Some demon's serve a particular function, to cause disaster, to drive people crazy and so on, but others ….."

Dean gave an abbreviated lecture on types and functions of demons, followed by questions, and more questions while reminding himself that they had a right to know what they were getting into and with whom, regardless of how frustrating, repetitious or annoying they were. Or how many times Malcolm interrupted. Dixon did keep the coffee coming which helped but the constant buzz of primal emotions was taking it's toll on Dean. At length he excused himself, stepped away from the conference table, rubbed his eyes, then his temples and finely gave his scalp a good massage.

"What is it?" Dixon asked concerned.  
"I don't know how to explain it." Dean sighed only to receive a reproachful look from Dixon, "You guys buzz." Dixon's eye widened and he grinned a little, "It's like this primal thing, a charge I feel." Dixon's grin widened, "Give it a rest." Dean growled and Dixon put on a serous face, "When there's just a couple of you I can push it into the back ground and filter it out so it doesn't bother me but this room is so charged it's coming at me in waves and getting on my last nerve."  
"You're talking about a psychic sort of thing." Dixon queued in.  
"Yah I can feel things sometimes" Dean admitted awkwardly.

"All right, it is late and you've had a bloody long day." Dixon made a quick decision and returned to the table, "Members of the council, we are well into the dinner hour and Mr. Winchester came to us after a ten hour drive. We will return to the table tomorrow morning at nine." Dixon closed the meeting.

He did not ask or recommend, they did not call for a vote or consensus. It wasn't even a royal request. He quietly and politely told them this is how it would be. Everyone rose and bowed, even Malcolm, and Dixon responded with a little head nod and a smile. As the council gathered their things, gave instructions to their aids and moved toward the door Philip made a B line for Dixon who had turned to Dean without taking note.

"A primal energy is it?" he grinned at Dean again, who made a face back, "I like it. Primal, sounds so powerful."  
"Get over yourself." Dean laughed.  
"I confess I've never heard anyone talk to our King like that." Philip announced his presence.  
"He's your king but he's my partner." Dean returned then asked by way of friendly conversation, "Philip, that isn't your real name is it?"

Philip blinked startled by the question and was going to take offence as he would if any Barbaru had asked but checked himself. This boy is after all only human and not a well bred one at that. Before he could gently rebuke him Dixon intervened.

Dixon slightly shook his head at Dean to let him know he committed a faux pas, "Before we came we were discussing names and how they impacted on us." Dixon explained Dean's behaviour, "Dean, Pheidippides is Greek not Sumerian."  
"Pheidippides, the marathon run Pheidippides?" Dean asked breaking out in an excited smile, "Did you really run from Marathon to Sparta in two days?"  
Philip blinked twice, looked from Dixon to Dean and back, "Are you a historian?" he asked,  
It was Dean's turn to blink twice in confusion then answered, "No, a hunter."  
"Dean is an authority on the history of war." Dixon rushed in, "He has a special fascination with the Greek wars and Sparta in particular."

Dean glared and Dixon smirked. Philip could see there was a lot said in those few words. Could it be his King had found a challenge in this young man?

"Yes I did make that run but I confess I did much of it on four legs with my armour strapped to my back." Philip loosened his tie a little.  
"I'll bet you did." Dean cheered not knowing Philip would take offence to his choice of words, then equally unaware paid him high praise in asking, "Two straight days wolf or not had to be a bitch. How did you keep going, sheer force of will?"  
"Yes force of will." Philip smiled, "And commitment to the preservation of my people and willingness to sacrifice for the cause."  
"I can relate to that." Dean nodded his understanding.  
"Can you?" Philip asked a hint of doubt in his voice, "Commitment and sacrifice seem to have lost their true meaning of late."  
Dean's face turned to stone and his eyes to ice as they bored into Philip, "Yes, I can relate."  
"Philip, that was uncalled for." Dixon whispered more disappointed than angry.

The disappointment did turn to anger as Dean turned away and walked toward the door. Dixon fought the impulse to rush after him and turned on Philip instead.

"Why did you deliberately offend him?" He demanded.  
"It wasn't intentional." Philip answered, "I do wonder if these human hunters truly understand commitment."  
"They live as outlaws traveling from one cheep motel to another stealing to survive. I would say it takes a great deal of commitment to a cause to live that way." Dixon argued annoyed by Philips lack of insight, "Not to mention the hours of work and danger they face in hunting. You did read my reports did you not?"  
"I confess they read like a horror fiction." Philip admitted.  
"Do you accuse me of falsifying the reports?" Dixon growled.  
"No, of course not." he answered honestly, "But they are extraordinary and difficult to understand, to accept as reality."  
"Because we are such old and dear friends I will not take offence." Dixon responded coldly.

Dixon turned away intending to follow Dean to the door when it burst open. Garrick's partner Heith, his vicious K9 teeth barred and fingers clawed burst into the room charging at Dean. In less than a heartbeat the body guard wolf was practically on top of him. Reacting on instinct Dean dropped to the floor and shoved a foot in the wolf's gut. Using his attractor's momentum Dean sent Heith soaring over him and while the man beast was still in the air, Dean rolled to his knees and slammed a fist between Heith's legs. The body guard dropped to the floor howling more with rage than pain and shifted into full wolf rising to attack again. It took less than a minute to do but it was time enough for Dean to draw his pistol but before he could fire Dixon had shifted and was on the rogue body guard tearing at his throat. Dean stood poised ready to fire the moment the battling wolves parted when suddenly everyone flew across the room and were pinned to the walls, including Dean and Dixon. Heith shifted back to human form but with completely black eyes.

"Damned near every demon is hunting you and I'm the lucky one." the demon grinned, "Azazel will reward me for killing the biggest pain in the ass hunter."  
"Old yellow eyes going to give you a nice big lolly pop?" Dean smirked.  
"You sent his boy back to hell you brainless moron." the demon laughed, "You have no idea what killing you will get me."  
"Besides a pat on the head and treat?" Dean asked.  
"Barbaru!" Dixon roared, "You will address your King!"

One glance from the demon and Dixon began to choke and gag.

"You're here to kill me!" Dean roared, "Kill him and you're bring thousands down on you. Azazel will filet you, you dick."

Before the demon could readdress Dean a wolf, his face and back bloody, had padded silently up behind him and in one quick mover clamped his powerful jaws around his partner's neck and snapped off his head. As everyone in the room fell to the floor a column of smoke shot out from the still standing body poured into the ventilation system and disappeared. Garrick shifted into human form making his wounds, and the pain in his face visible to all.

"That wasn't your partner." Dean hurried to tell the distressed body guard, "He was possessed. The demon did all of this."  
"We celebrated the turn of the century together." Garrick muttered, "I stood for him when he took his mate."  
"I'm so sorry dude." Dean condoled shaking his head and put a comforting hand on his shoulder then turned to Dixon, "This is what I meant. He's running off to tell that yellow eyed son of a bitch about this. I put a target on your back."  
"We are not the Nasiru if we are not in this fight." Dixon replied then turned to his people and dared anyone to disagree with him."

* * *

**Getting bored? Please read and review? **


	34. Chapter 34 It Begins

**Sam, Dean and Supernatural are not mine.**

***Correction, I stated in chapter 34 that Phileidippides ran from Marathon to Sparta. It is said, there was a herald sent from Marathon to Athens to announce the victory over the Persians. Phileidippides on the other hand, ran from Athens to Sparta seeking help in fighting the Persians. He also stated his age at over 6,000 years however after double checking my history he is far younger. (I hang my head in shame for someone with my background in history should not have made such a silly mistake).  
**

* * *

**Chapter 35**

**It Begins  
**

The silence that followed Dixon's declaration was so heavy it could be cut with a knife. Dean waited for someone to argue, disagree, or even question, very respectfully of course. It hung thick until Philip stepped forward his dignified superiority shaken.

"The smoke, was that the demon?" He asked Dean and Dixon.

"Yah that's a demon and he's taken off to tell his boss who I've been talking to." Dean confirmed.

"How does one make war on such a creature?" a council member asked, someone, anyone.

It was in their voice, in their stare. They were in shock and any answer Dean could give them would have meant very little at that moment. Though Dean could feel the tension coming off Dixon as thick as molasses, the King maintained his aura of calm and took complete control of the situation. He placed a comforting hand on Garrick's shoulder telling him to tend his wounds and assuring him the jet would wait so he could journey home with Hieth.

"With respect Sire, I would not feel comfortable leaving you at this time." Garrick asked to stay.

"As you wish." Dixon let him.

"I will assign my two best men to you Sire and return to my duties as soon as possible." the head of security, said and was about to leave when he noticed Dean pulling the shirt off of Hieth's body, "Mr. Winchester, may I ask what you're doing to my friend?" He asked with remarkable restraint.

"Trying to find out how a demon possessed someone who's tattooed with the charm at birth." Dean explained and declared, "Well that explains it." when he found a lightning bolt had been added to Kieth's tattoo.

"I confess I've never seen our crest with that addition." Dixon said looking at Garrick, not the least amused.

"The younger Barbaru have been known to do that in celebration of their hundredth kill." Garrick explained a little embarrassed, then turned to Dean "Charm, may I ask what you mean?"

"Dude your crest is a protection charm. It's a shield against possession." Dean explained, then turned to Dixon again, "Everyone that's messed up the charm is a potential victim. They need knew tats."

Watching Dixon in operation was rather impressive. In the brief walk to his suite Dixon ordered a declaration sent to all Illutu regarding the crest, changed the time of the next primary council meeting to seven o'clock, summoned the representatives to convene at noon and invited Philip to the evening poker game. He waited until they were in the suite before sending for Lena.

"Wondered when you'd get to that." Dean said as Jasper closed the doors behind them.

Dixon's wounds were miner by Barbaru standards. He had managed to protect his neck well and Dean let him know how remarkable that was considering the strength of a possessed person. Dixon laughed saying that technique and always trumps strength. When Lena arrived she fussed and bothered and wanted to know why he called a veterinarian rather than his personal physician.

"Because Nick is even more annoying than you are." Dixon growled at her, "Are you going to join our poker game?"

"For the privilege of loosing a hundred grand to Cho or Damien, no thank you." she laughed.

"For the privilege of watching them loose to Dean, actually." Dixon returned with a wicked grin.

Lena gave Dean a cool calculating stare then informed him he had better clean their clocks. Dean decided it was time for a power nap. A poker game like that could last all night. He lay in bed and began to chant in Enochian. Quickly the darkness in his mind was replaced by the lake and Castiel appeared beside him. After the stress of the day it felt good to listen to the call of the gulls and lapping of the water.

Castiel waited patiently letting Dean enjoy his moment of peace. After the hectic pace of the past two days he rather enjoyed the quiet and company of a friend. The knowledge Dean brought him and the secret mission he was given by God, had separated him from his brothers and for the first time in his life he was lonely. It was an unpleasant feeling he didn't know how to deal with. Feelings were a strange thing that tended to cloud the mind and make decisions difficult but his new human friend seemed to understand. Sitting on the hood of his car discussing his new situation, hearing stories of Sam or just enjoying the silence wiped away the loneliness and gave him new insight into the humans the host of Heaven were charged with watching over. He had begun to think of the young human as a friend and comrade in arms. He began to regret advising Dean to curry the favour of the Barbaru when those nights diminished to only a few with the partnering of Dixon. Gabriel joining him in the vale as he watched over Dean just wasn't the same.

"No luck on the dad hunt?" Dean broke the silence.

"This country is large. It will take me a few more days." Castiel replied.

"Yah but you'll handle it." Dean acknowledged then sighed sadly, "I screwed up this poor guys life."

"Explain." Castiel answered confused by the change of subject.

"Dixon, he just lost a man to a demon." Dean turned to face him, "The demon got away and he's going to run to Azazel. The Barbaru are in the game now, whether they like it or not."

"Was that not the objective?" Castiel asked.

"Yah but it still sucks, for them."

"With the Sultanu as your ally you will have an army to fight this war." Castiel pointed out the great advantage of uniting with the Barbaru.

"I know that Cass, and you're right but I could get a lot of them killed, you know."

"If the apocalypse is not averted they will all die at the hands of Lucifer." Castiel pointed out a simple fact and asked, "Should they not fight for their lives, for their future?"

"I'm supposed to be the Lectus Unus." Dean said and looked out again at the lake, "It's my job, my responsibility, not theirs."

"Is you're power so great that you can conquer Lucifer unaided?" Castiel asked.

Dean stared at Castiel a moment then smiled, "That's putting me in my place."

"It was a question." Castiel corrected him.

"One that put me in my place and no I'm not powerful at all." Dean answered giving Castiel a pat on the shoulder.

"Then seeking aid is a wise tactical move." Castiel concluded.

"Yah, a good move, but it still sucks for them." Dean smiled sadly and turned back to the lake, "Windom Minnesota."

"There is no Illutu in Windom Minnesota."

"No, but my little brother Adam is." Dean grinned, "You might check there for my dad and his papers."

"I had not intended to search that state until Thursday however I will change my search pattern."

"Great thanks, Cass, is there such a thing as a Quradu power nap?" Castiel's head tilted in that bird like way, "I won't get a lot of sleep, if any tonight, but I'll have to be sharp."

"An hour of healing will revitalize your body and rest your mind." Castiel answered wondering how someone so smart could miss such an obvious thing.

"Now he tells me." Dean grinned.

"Yes, I did." Castiel responded with yet another tilt.

Dean's grin widened, "You always make me smile, don't ever change."

Yet another tilt, "I have no desire to." He answered and disappeared.

The lake faded and Dean rose to peal off his cloths and power nap Quradu style. This would be no ordinary poker game. He fully expected to be grilled on demons and Azazel in particular while being assaulted by their anxiety. It wasn't just the council, he could feel them all around him, each one with heightened emotions. Dean put up a shield against the onslaught and began reaching for the sun, to regenerate his tired muscles and energise the mind.

* * *

When Jasper called Dean to dinner he found Dixon still looking a little worn but his wounds had already closed and some of the strain was gone. He looked almost happy and he wasn't prepared to accept any apologies from Dean regarding the lose of a man.

"Remember what you told me about counting deaths? Be prepared to have a very bad century." Dean warned him, "These guys can crush you from the inside or rip you head off with just a thought."

"Rip our heads off, yes that would do it." Dixon conceded, "And he didn't die when I killed poor Hieth."

"Why don't we grab a bite and go over a few things." Dean suggested

"Jasper will be serving a tea all night so I ordered a light dinner." He said perking up a little.

"A tea?" Dean asked taken by surprise.

"Scones, biscuits, finger sandwiches, cakes and pies."

"And tea?" Dean asked.

"Yes or coffee if you wish."

Jasper appeared out of nowhere, as was his habit, and placed a plate of eggs, sausage and potatoes fried with onion in front of them.

"Ah, eggs and chips, an excellent choice." Dixon thanked Jasper, "A rather traditional English meal second only to roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and Fish and chips."

Dean never minded a good breakfast although having it at dinner felt a little strange but one did not question meal choices in another man's house. Dean was not well schooled in manners, (though he began watching and learning from Dixon with the idea of improving Sam's opinion of him) he knew that much. Dixon's affected exuberance was irritating and getting in the way of helping him deal so good manners or not Dean called him on it.

"Dude your happy act is going to ruin my appetite and you know how hard it is to do that." Dean said as soon a Japer left the room, Dixon's smile faded fast and he became awkward, something rarely seen but Dean pressed on, "Is everybody freaking about the guard getting to you or are you a little freaked?"

"I have to admit I am a little." Dixon confessed easily, "But please don't mention it to anyone. I'm not allowed to be unsettled. A King's responsibility you understand."

"Keeping your game face on, yah I understand." Dean well knew.

"How do you kill such a thing?" Dixon asked point blank while trying to force himself to eat.

"There are three ways. There's a colt made by Samuel Colt in the eighteen hundreds that can kill anything except five things." Dean answered conversationally, "The four Archangels and God. That is, I think the fifth is God. A knife, I'm not sure were it came from, and an Angel's dagger which I think can kill anything. The bad news is you kill the host when you kill the demon. The only way to get rid of it and save the person is an exorcism."

Dixon mused thoughtfully as he stabbed a potato then started and dropped the fork, "An Angel's dagger? Not Angel's sward? You've seen an Angel."

Dean looked at him in surprise, "You haven't? I thought you guys were organized by Angels."

"Yes. A number of us have spoken to Angels numerous times over the first millennia as we gathered to become a people but it's been near four millennia since any of us have seen one."

Oops, that wasn't smart. Think fast Winchester. Dean stuffed a piece of sausage in his mouth to buy a moment to think.

"That's what they did with the Quradu. Showed up, organized them then disappeared." Dean answered casually, "According to my manual one did come to the survivors who showed up at the fort after the massacre. Told them to haul ass before the army came back." Dixon continued to stare, "What?" Dean demanded, "Our history isn't so different from the Barbaru."

"No of course not." Dixon sighed, annoyed with himself for even needing to ask, "I should have know. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"You just met your fist demon and you're shook." Dean shrugged it off, "You're only human, so cut yourself some slack." A grin slowly slipped across Dixon's face, "Let me rephrase that." But Dixon began to chuckle, "Hay, to me you're just people so cut me some slack."

"Thank you." Dixon said with a warm smile.

"For what?"

"Thinking of us as just people."

Dean's eyebrows rose and he shrugged, "What else and I supposed to think?"

Dixon allowed Dean's ease to calm him and listened attentively to all his partner had to tell him about demon's and the demon plot that he didn't already know. But when he pressed Dean about their objective he couldn't help noticing Dean's hesitation. Could he be hiding something?

"The more I know the better I can help." he asked without asking.

Dean paused before answering, "The signs and prophecies are all suggesting to me that they're trying to bring on Armageddon."

Dixon sat back his eyes wide, "Armageddon? Is that possible? Would God allow it?"

"God won't interfere with free will. If some one wants to kick you in the head praying won't help." Dean answered with a groan, then seeing Dixon's alarm he added, "That said, I think he's perfectly capable of manipulating and manoeuvring on the sidelines to make sure Hell doesn't take over the planet."

Dixon nodded thoughtfully. In the faith of the Barbaru the power of God is absolute and his will to be obeyed or else, but even with their isolationist ways modern ideas were having their way with his peoples beliefs. The idea that God was not choreographing their every step in life was, if a little frightening, some what liberating. The knowledge that demons walked the earth shifted liberating to the back burner and emphasized the fear factor. With God's hand not guiding everything the question of 'why did He allow horrible things to happen' was answered but it raised the possibility that evil could win. God working on the sidelines was a comforting thought.

By the end of the meal Dixon's stress induced exhaustion seemed to have lifted and he approached the poker game with renewed vitality. With Dean and Dixon their were nine at the table. Most of his life Dean considered five hundred a good nights work. Sam had said he was a millionaire so he could afford a hundred thousand dollar loss but it boggled the mind to think that there was almost a million dollars floating around the table, …, so he didn't think about it.

Dixon assured Dean that a wolf could go without sleep for twenty-four hours with ease. That was good news for the job but it meant the other poker players wouldn't be struggling to stay sharp. Dixon fielded as many questions as he could permitting Dean to focus on finding emotions within the primal buzz, and support it with body language. It was more akin to pre Quradu poker. The challenge, the risk, the adrenalin rush, the sense of satisfaction with each hand won. Dean was having a ball.

By the time the clock called an end to the game Dean had over half a million in chips in front of him, a cocky grin on his face and a knew respect for Philip. He discovered that Philip was born in a small village in Greece during the bronze age and had been forced to run when his nature was discovered. This made him the youngest member of the council. He had spent more than half his life alone adopting new identities moving from city to city, civilization to civilization. He lived in Crete as a Minoan, fought for Agamemnon of Mycenae, was a soldier in the army of Alexander the Great, and moved from Greek city to Greek city meeting Dixon after the battle of Plataea when they were guests of an Athenian General. Considering his achievements it was no wonder he commanded such respect.

At the poker game the old warrior had been much more relaxed exchanging old stories with Dixon and making jokes. He came to appreciate Dean's mastery of languages as the hunter spent the whole night jumping between Sumerian and ancient Greek throwing in a few stories of his own. The old Greek gave his full attention to Dean's tails and came to appreciate the measure of courage and commitment it took for humans to hunt and left the game before dawn to reread Dixon's reports. In light of his knew understanding they lost their fanciful feel and became war stories.

Dean looked oddly well rested when they sat down to their morning coffee but then Dixon had seen the hunter go several days without sleeping and still function well. When Dixon knocked on the door Dean called, give me a couple of minutes to shower and was ready in ten. In simple jeans, a black T and light blue shirt Dean managed to look sexy. Dixon wished he could look that good with as little effort but on him the casual dress would have looked sloppy and he had to dress to impress. It would be expected of the King to appear in complete control of all things.

The agenda for the day was a breakfast meeting with the primary council followed by a break, early lunch, then the meeting of the representatives for the briefing and vote. Dean sat back and watched Dixon go through the paces of soliciting the co-operation and consent of the primary council most of whom were on board. The only time Dean stepped in was when Malcolm suggested that if the threat was so great Dixon should be declaring war. He could see the gleam in Malcolm's eyes. The wolf knew how Dixon felt.

"You can't hunt demons if you have to wait for the boss to give you the go ahead." Dean butted in, "You have to act fast and improvise. No two situations are the same."

"And what is our objective?" Malcolm asked pointedly.

"To stop them." Dixon answered with equal intent.

"From doing what?" He sneered.

"Dixon pushed his plate aside and leaned on the table locking eyes with Malcolm and answered, "With the kind of activity that has been seen lately they could be trying to bring on Armageddon."

"God would never allow it." Malcolm laughed at him.

"Oh your plan is to sit back and let God deal with the situation is it?" Dixon accused in the form of a question, "Have you considered that the Creator fully expects us to deal with this? That is why we were created is it not. That is why we are the Nasiru Barbaru, or is Guardian spelled with a small 'g' and only when convenient?"

Bulls eye Dean thought. He may not be a general but he is definitely a master statesman. Dean did his best to follow the arguments at the Quorum but lost track here and there. It problem wasn't trying to follow the Sumerian. The entire breakfast meeting had been in their native language. It was the monotonous repetitious arguing that pulled silent groans from him. He would have left had Dixon not insisted his presence was essential. By the time a victory celebration was called for Dean was exhausted. He dropped to a sofa, plopped his feet on the coffee table and called for Jasper to bring him a '_scotch, neat make that a double, oh hell just bring me the bottle'_

Accompanying Dixon and Dean was Lena and several of the primary councillors with whom Dixon had personal relationships with including Philip. Dean didn't notice their startled or disapproving looks. If he had he wouldn't have known what they were disapproving of. His feet on the table, not asking Dixon for the drink, or just his entire uncultured manner. Dixon hesitated only a moment before kicking off his shoes and settling on the other end of the sofa and stretching out. Lena responded quickly to Dixon's lead and sat her legs curled up beside her. The others exchanged unsure glances unaccustomed to such informal behaviour in their King.

Please make yourself comfortable." He told his friends as he buried a foot between two cushions, "Relax, we've all had a long day. Jasper a class for me as well."

"What I wouldn't do for a proper settee." Philip commented as he sprawled out on the sofa beside Lena, "Dean you were particularly quiet today."

"I am all soldier, Philip. I do not do politics." Dean grinned happy to be away from it all, "Point me at a monster and get out of my way but a committee is an animal I will not tangle with."

"I heard you handled yourself very well at the primary council." Lena offered.

"Oh I can argue and lecture one on one or when I'm working something but if you hadn't notice I'm not that diplomatic. That thing this afternoon?" Dean shook his head and laughed, "I'd have got pissed and told half those guys off."

"In which case we might have lost the vote." Philip pointed out.

"Which is why the man is King and I'm not, thank God." Dean said and lifted his glass to Dixon in toast, "Hail to the King and his command of politics."

"Here, here." everyone agreed and Dixon nodded his acceptance.

"Is this over?" Dean asked hopefully.

"We'll meet tomorrow to form a plan and to co-ordinate with…" Dixon began.

"Oh man," Dean cried, "When it comes time for the actual battle strategies send someone down to the poker room to get me."

"This is the battle strategy meeting." Dixon pointed out.

"Dix," Dean sat up and looked at him, "All we can do right now is hunt and capture every demon we can find and interrogate them. Granted that's going to be a bitch for you guys. The finding part. You need to look real close at strange deaths for signs of demonic ritual or serial deaths that are following a pattern like from town to town sort of thing. Investigate, detective style, send teams out to ask questions. The hard part for you will be in figuring out what is human and what isn't."

"How do you capture a demon?" a friend asked, "That thing was just smoke and was throwing us around with a glance."

"You have to lure it into a devil's trap."

"Wait." Dixon interrupted, "Record this. We'll have to create a dossier and send it out to all the Illutu. Dean this is what we will be doing at the meeting tomorrow. This type of planning, and brainstorming."

"I'm not going to get to play poker tomorrow am I?" Dean almost pouted.

For five days Dean brainstormed with the primary council but was granted leave to play poker during the representative meetings and relaxed with Dixon in the evening occasionally joined by Philip, Lena and friends. One evening was reserved for a night at a club for diner and a show, just the two of them. Alone with Dean at the night club were they first enjoyed dinner and a show Dixon found it was so easy, so relaxed. The jokes flew and the laughter was unchecked. Dixon felt like a young man again, unencumbered by his responsibilities or the requirements of royal decorum and he luxuriated in the familiarity Dean allowed. It was so easy to not be King with Dean that for a few fleeting moments he wished the couldn jump into the Impala and drive off.

But the daily strategy meetings brought him back to his reality. There was a terrible threat to be dealt with that he could not, would not drop it on someone else's shoulders. Dixon waited as Dean studied the second revision of the dossier before giving it his approval and did not press him to hurry as awaiting the human's approval so irritated Malcolm. Dean finely sat back and sighed uncomfortably.

"What is it Dean?" Dixon asked knowing something was wrong.

"I've tried to think of every possibility, everything that could happen but I can't. There's to many variables." Dean groan, "There's no substitute for experience. No one should hunt a demon without someone who's done it before. It's asking for trouble. Even after a couple of good fights one still put me in a coma."

"How many battles with demons have you had?" Philip asked.

"To many to count and none were fun."

"Dean I'll put this to the representatives and discuss the problem." Dixon compromised, "See if we can come up with something."

* * *

The poker room was closely monitored. Cameras were over every table keeping an eagle eye out. The object in this was making cheating next to impossible. To use a cell phone one had to fold their hand and step away from the table. At table four the blond in the grey pullover suddenly folded his hand and pulled out his cell as he began to rise. He had shown up every after noon for the past three days and had a tendency to win. Having a good day was not remarkable but two good days in a row was a curiosity to take note of. On the third day when he appeared again they snapped a picture of the handsome, green eyed, blond in the tailored black jacket just in case it was needed. As he looked at the phone he froze then slowly a half calked smile spread across his face and he bolted from room. The security team that had been keeping a close eye on him as his winning streak continued, remember that he left the table in responce to a text message the previous two days. They played back the footage played and zoomed in on the phone to read the text message. The message simply read _**"WE FOUND HER!"**_

* * *

__**Hold on to your seats.  
**

*******This chapter was miserable to write. I've rewritten it half a dozen times. As a transitional chapter I found it very difficult to provide the information and illustrate character without being terribly boring. **Please review and tell me it didn't drag to badly. Lie if you must for like most writers my ego is fragile.  



	35. Chapter 35 The Meeting

**Disclaimer: blah blah blah.  
**

**I wish to apologise for the long delay in updating. I have been away attending to a health issue and have not had access to the internet but I have had the use of a lap top, if a little limited in the time allowed. To those still interested in my story my profound gratitude for your favour. The next two and a half captures are largely written and should be up quickly.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 35**

**The Meeting**

When Dean arrived at the suite it was alive with frenzied activity. Jasper already had their bags packed, Dixon's secretary was on the phone to the airport and the entire primary council was gathered in deep conversation with Dixon. Dean didn't even notice the others in the sitting room. He charged up to Dixon and threw an arm around him in a manly embrace.

"Dix, you the man." he cheered, "Welcome to your first demon hunt."

"On behalf of the Barbaru I thank you ." Dixon accepted his accolade, "We're arranging transportation for everyone however we don't actually know how to begin."

"Everyone?" Dean asked startled, "What everyone?"

"The primary council and Illutu Balu." Dixon answered some what subdued.

"Dude this isn't a spectators sport." Dean returned awkwardly, "We have to lure her into a devil's trap. We can't do that with an audience."

The excitement in the room died with the speed of a thrown light switch. Dean looked around the room at all the eyes staring at him, either angry or disappointed. He took the daggers without flinching and placed a comforting hand on Dixon's shoulder

"This is what you were talking about, the teaching opportunity." Dixon jumped in before Dean could speak, "When will we have a chance like this again? We mustn't waist it. Besides who would make better bait than a Barbaru?"

Dean resisted the impulse to look for the expensive coffee and bagels which Dixon usually served when making a pitch using his reasonable voice with the slight salesman quality.

'_Ah what the hell.' _he thought and asked, "Where's the bagels?"

"Jasper, bagels for Mr. Winchester please." Dixon called then did a double take. Dean was standing with his arms folded across his chest, wearing his half cocked grin. Dixon heaved a big sigh and gave a sniff as if offended before whispering to Philip who sent the other council members out of the room. As they left Dixon added a sulky pout "Well, it's a bloody brilliant idea."

"Dix it's not that simple." Dean answered a little irritated by antics that at any other time would have amused him, "We can't kill her we have to exorcise her but to do that we have to trap her and that ain't easy when you're dealing with things that mind read.

"I would say we have work to do." Dixon shifted his approach, "What will you need first?"

"I'll need every piece of information I can on what she's doing, everywhere she goes and if we can back trace, found out where she's been, that would help a whole hell of a lot. We need to get there as fast as we can." Dean began thinking out loud.

"Tamara and Morgan, I need your teams on surveillance your very best please, long range keep your distance but do not loose her." Dixon began calling people from the dining area, "Victor and Lorena put your people on tracing her steps, where was she, what was she doing there. Garrick back them up and equip them to do traces, what ever support is required. Don't be afraid to take short cuts. I'm not worried about the legalities. Ilsa fuel the jets." he finished and smiled at Dean, "Check."

Dean had only to mention he was calling Sam to come to Phoenix when Dixon told Elsa to arrange a charter for Sam. By then Dean was swinging between sulk and simmer. He collapsed on the sofa head in hand groaning and Dixon dropped beside him a smug grin on his face. Dean stared at him long and hard until the grin faded.

"Why are you so upset?" Dixon asked in earnest.

"You're having a ball aren't you?" Dean asked.

After a pause Dixon admitted, "I am existed."

"I'm not." Dean told him. He drew his hand from his face and held Dixon's clear blue eyes with his, "This bitch put a curse on my father to drive him crazy with rage. My dad's out there hunting alone being tormented by voices in his head because if he comes anywhere near me he'll try to kill me. If I play this right maybe, just maybe I can save him. Even more important, and I can't believe I just said that, she could bring us one step closer to stopping what ever world holocaust her father has planned. You shouldn't be existed you should be sweating, praying every move we make is the right one and we pull this off without a hitch. We have to be damned careful, Dixon, there's no room for mistakes. We can't be worried about the audio or video feed or any shit like that." Dean paused only a second to take in Dixon's much more subdued manner then raised his voice to deliver the big finish, "But above all no one can decide that after five thousand years in this business there's no way they're going to take a back seat to a human and do something stupid."

"How dare you, you insignificant armature." Malcolm growled charging into the room.

"I knew I could count on you to prove my point." Dean shouted triumphantly sitting back, making himself comfortable and putting his boots on the coffee table.

Demons, was what had spurred this grand quest, drove him from his comfortable life in Pennsylvania. In the months he travelled with Dean he'd learned much, about hunting, hunters, the human world and even himself. If it had ended yesterday Dixon would have considered himself blessed yet just a little disappointed. A demon, a real demon hunt, this he so much wanted to see, to be a part of. He would not be cheated because Malcolm or any of his people could not accept the fact that in this Dean was the expert, the "Pro from Dover".

"Come before me." Dixon called in his most commanding voice and the council and Balu gathered before him, "As I'm sure you've all heard, there is much riding on this hunt not only for Dean personally but for us all."

"We have discussed at length the perceived threat to the human world." Councillor Persephone spoke up, "And I agree, as the Maseru we are duty bound to fight this battle if it proves real, however I also see the danger in letting the battle be in any way controlled by a human."

"I am please to see I'm not the only one who sees the danger." Malcolm announced triumphantly."

"Please give us the benefit of your vast knowledge of demons." Dixon grinned at Malcolm, pleased that his cousin drew his aim from Persephone.

"We have hunted for thousands of years and never once met a demon!" Malcolm growled, "I am not convinced they are real."

"Then you will have no objection to returning to your Illutu." Dixon ended the discussion then turned to Persephone and asked, "Do you have you any idea of where to begin? I know I do not. How can lead we this hunt "

"I do object!" Malcolm growled as loud as he dared.

"It was not a suggestion." Dixon turned angry eyes and a stone face even Dean would have been proud of, on his nemesis, "You will leave for Austria today. All information on this hunt will be forwarded to your Illutu. Does anyone else object to Mr. Winchester commanding this hunt."

"Sire." Jacob stepped forward and Dixon was crestfallen, he so wanted his old friends support, "I understand the necessity of having the only person with experience lead the hunt. But I spent centuries living amongst humans, you have dealt with them for over a millennia however some here have only vague memories of life amongst humans and for some those memories are not as pleasant as others. I beg your patience with those who do not possess our insight."

"Yes, thank you for your wisdom." Dixon was greatful for his friend's gentle rebuff, "I can understand why some may be ill at ease having a human command however I see no alternative. We know nothing of demons other than what we have learned from Mr. Winchester. If you see any other option speak freely."

"I question their very existence, Sire." Tamarra a Balu from Canada spoke up.

"Then you should be pleased that your question will be answered." Dixon returned with a smile.

Dixon's hesitation was almost imperceptible but Dean could see he was on the spot. He was acting purely on faith, faith in Dean. Dean always valued Dixon's faith and trust in him but never so much as at that moment. Never before did Dean realize how extraordinary it was, how far from the Barbaru comfort zone his partner had stepped. Dean's appreciation for his partner took a giant leap forward as did his respect for the courage of the King.

"Yes Sire, it will be good to have the proof before us." Tamara agreed, "And as the answer may well be that there are demons then it is wise that one experienced with them lead this hunt however discomforted I may be by that."

"Your appointment as Balu of the west Canadian Illutu was a wise one." Dixon acknowledged her acumen.

Dixon had won that round but Dean knew that he had to pull this hunt off without a hitch or Dixon's faith in him would make him look like a fool and Malcolm would take advantage of that in a heart beat. The pressure was on and as they left for Phoenix he felt every once. Even the white knuckle flight didn't completely distract him from the weight of the moment.

* * *

Sam arrived at the Phoenix airport to be approached by a pleasant faced man in a three piece suit informing him the car was waiting. Sam's first reaction was to say 'Christo'. 'A wise precaution.' said the man who identified himself as Garrick who lead him to a shiny black limo. Well at least it wasn't a stretch limo, that would have been over the top. He was driven to a comfortable looking motel, one of three they took rooms in.

"Mr. Winchester and Mr. Channing are in the corner suite on the second floor." Garrick said as he lead Sam up the exterior stairs.

"Dean usually prefers the ground floor." Sam felt the need to say something.

"It was my recommendation, a security precaution." Garrick took the blame, "The second floor is harder to attack."

"It also makes a hasty exit out the window a little trickier." Sam grinned.

Garrick opened the door to a roomy suite with a sitting and dinning area larger than most rooms he and Dean had shared. Dean was surrounded by a group of men and women most in their late twenties or early thirties and a few Dean's age. Dean looked up from his papers and flashed Sam a worm welcoming smile then hurried over to greet him with a quick hug.

"I need to talk to you." Sam said eagerly.

"What?" Dean asked startled and looked around at the expectant faces, who had all been waiting for the last member of the hunt to arrive, "What's wrong?"

"I have to give you something." He said smiling, "It arrived a couple of days ago."

"Fine, give us a couple of minutes." Dean said to Dixon and lead Sam to one of the bedrooms.

Sam began rambling about how he'd searched high and low, got lucky and found one of only two in existence. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a little pouch saying it coast a pretty penny but if it works it would be worth it.

"What is this?" Dean asked a little annoyed by all the mystery, but took the bag and opened it.

Inside was an oval disk about the size of a silver dollar. By the weight it was sterling silver not something one would expect in magic, but then Dean had seen other forms of magic that employed the substance in it's rituals. He would have to decide whether that was comforting or not. Around the edges were runes. On one face there were two rows of runes, one circling the outside and the other around a deep red dot in the center. On the other side was a rune, Raidho, at the center and another set of rune writings around it.

"It's a talisman." Sam explained the object, "It's supposed to help the righteous find peace. The center is a piece of a linen handkerchief with the blood of Ste. Francis of Assisi supposedly from one of his stigmata wounds."

"So this is ancient runes and Holy blood?" Dean grinned pointing out the irony, "God and magic?"

"It does have a history." Sam began his tale, "Through the centuries it's brought peace to men coming back from wars and people with a lot of violence in their past, curing them of terrible rages and nightmares and even drinking problems. Unfortunately there have been a couple of cases where the talisman put the wearer into a coma. The best known case is in Germany after WWII. A nurse gave it to a Nazi war criminal who was having nightmares and he fell into a coma. He whimpered and shook and screamed like he was trapped in one of his nightmares and couldn't get out. There was no waking him up even after talking the talisman off. He was like that for three years before he died. On the front it says, 'Peace in mind and soul', and on the back it says "For the pure of heart and justice for the darkest soul."

Dean took a few steps away and held it up to the light as if to more closely examine it. He slipped the rosary out of his pocket and blessed himself to read the runes hoping Sam had found him a treasure that would put a dent in Lucifer's curse. His hopes plummeted upon reading the inscribed runes.

"Sam I don't think this will cure the curse if that's what you have in mind." Dean said trying to smile.

"No maybe not a cure but it could help." Sam insisted a little dejected, "It's really hard to have a conversation with you cause I never know when or how I'm going to set you off and it has to be really hard on you having all these past things haunting you."

"My past isn't haunting me." Dean huffed then paused and when he spoke again he was calm, "It jumps up and hits me in the face when something triggers it, there's a difference. Sammy I'm afraid you need to work on your translations. On the front the inner circle is an incantation, more like a prayer really, to bring the peace of God to the mind and spirit. On the out side is an incantation to a Celtic Goddess Banba, to bring harmony to the mind, spirit and body. On the back is the rune symbol Raidha, facing both ways." He pointed out the rune that looked like a letter R, one normal and the other reversed, "It represents a journey, either physical or spiritual. Facing one way is good or a positive journey, the other is bad which could be nasty and I don't mean that in the fun way. The runic writing says, 'The vitreous heart need not fear the journey into the soul.' which is enough to give any sane hunter pause if you know what I mean."

"Dean, I though it would help, I didn't … I was trying. I need to work on my translations." Sam finished his head sinking to his chest.

"I know what you were trying to do little brother." Dean assured him, "You must have worked your ass off to find this and I really appreciate it Sammy, I do, but I'm going to talk to an expert on this shit before I even think about putting it on. I don't want to think about where that Nazi spent those last years in the coma."

"Suddenly that's a very scary thought." Sam agreed, "But Dean you're not a war criminal. Everything you do is to save people. Remember that when you talk to your expert. Who is who by the way?"

"Castiel, one of the most learned theologian's in the world and an expert on the occult." Dean answered although he had little hope of ever wearing the talisman.

"Yah, Dean?" Sam hummed, sat on a bed and began to bounce his leg.

Sam decided to save being sick over having unknowingly brought something potentially dangerous to Dean. The thought of Dean trapped for years in some hunt gone bad sent cold shivers up his spine. What was he thinking? He felt stupid having gone to a wiccan for the translation rather than a Linguist. His father had always said if you can't find what you're looking for in a library go to the source and he thought he was doing that. A high priestess in a Wicca cult should know what she was doing shouldn't she? But thinking back he realised he spent most of his days on a renowned University campus where experts in all things lived. He did still hold hope for it. As vitreous hearts went Dean's was damned good, even noble. A little morally tainted perhaps but a far cry from a war criminal, not even on the same planet. Yes a journey into his big brothers heart should be damned safe. Surely he hadn't wasted all his time and effort. But there was a far more important matter to address.

"Dean why didn't you call Bobby? Isn't he the demon expert?" Sam asked and the room grew chillier.

"How many exorcisms do I have to do before you decide I know what I'm doing?" Dean asked trying to at least appear even tempered.

"If this is so easy why the army?" Sam growled defensively.

"Sam!" Dean barked then stopped himself. It wasn't what Sam was asking, just the way he asked it, Dean told himself and calmed down, "This isn't easy Sam it's fucking… " he stopped when his voice began to raise and he took a breath lowering it again, "These guys are here to help and to learn about demon hunting. Having them on our side, if the shit hit's the fan, could make all the difference."

"Amateurs? This is Jessica's life you're playing with." Sam, jumped to his feet as he felt that rush of panic he could never wholly suppress when it came to her.

"No it's not. It's a demon and it's my life and the lives of every hunter in that room and it's a whole hell of a lot more." Dean's voice raised as the room chilled to the point Sam could see his breath, "Your girlfriend is just one tiny pawn in this chess game Sammy. This isn't all about you or her."

But it was in part. It was about saving Sam. Maybe that wasn't the big picture but it was an important part to Dean. Why did Sam whining about Jessica so irritate him. Was it the whining, or it was about the lack of faith that Dean had thought he had instilled in Sam?

"Maybe in the great scheme of things you're right." Sam choked both hurt and angry, as he began to pace, "But she'd a damned important pawn to me."

'Now don't I feel like an ass.', Dean thought and gave Sam a comforting hug whispering, "I know Sammy, I'm sorry, I know." Then stepped back, grabbed a bottle and handed Sam a drink, "Sammy, I thought we had some trust here, that you knew I know what I'm doing."

"I do." Sam said and sat again, "It's just …."

"Jessica?" Dean offered, "With her in the mix you're scared."

"Yah." Sam nodded.

"And with a bunch of guys with faces like mine you're worried?"

"Yah." Sam admitted.

"Would you feel better if I wash the makeup off." Dean suggested with a grin, "No, you'd want the guy that gave me the face." Sam's eyebrows came together, "'The Magnificent Seven', dude you should be ashamed." He finely got a grin from Sam, "Look Sam these guys are older than they look, they've all been on more hunts than you, they're trained by guys who've been on more hunts than dad. They're part of an organization that's been hunting for a long time."

"So why are they taking their cues from you?" Sam asked with a satisfied smirk.

"Cause I've got more demon hunts under my belt, smart ass."

"An organization?" Sam suddenly heard and understood, "Dean, there is no such thing." Sam stammered then seeing Dean's eyes narrow and his face turn to stone knew he'd made a mistake.

"And exactly how do you know that?" Dean snapped.

"I guess I don't. It just sounds so far out there. Why didn't dad ever tell us about that?" Sam asked.

"Sammy, I'm the one that used to hero worship dad," Dean growled exhausted by the exchange, "And even I know he doesn't know everything."

Sam nodded seeing Dean's point. It was a stupid remark. He wondered why he had said it in the first place then thinking it over decided it was because of his fear for Jessica. He wanted the most experienced, the very best, working to save her. Traditionally that would have been dad. Time to get over that, he told himself. But before he could give voice to his thoughts a bellow from the main room made him jump.

"You can produce Dean Winchester or I can produce a little hell fire for you right here and now!" a well known voice barked at someone.

Sam and Dean were on their feet and out the door.

* * *

***I have little doubt this horrible delay has driven some readers to abandon this story. Please review and let me know how many of you are still reading. If anyone is still ready no matter how few I will continue to write but I'd still like to know.  
**

****Bamba is the Celtic Goddess, of wisdom inspiration and enlightenment.**

*****In the ground breaking western "The Magnificent Seven" three Mexican townspeople are sitting in a salon with Chris a gun fighter (played by Yul Brynner) looking for fighters to come and help defend their town against bandits. A man with a scared face enters and one comment that a man with so many scares must be a fighter. His friend disagrees saying "The man for us it the one who gave him that face."  
**

******Again the "Pros from Dover" from M*A*S*H. For those who don't recognize it, whenTrapper John is called to Kokura Japan to operate on a Generals son, he is thrilled with the prospect of playing Golf in Japan he invites Hawkeye to accompany him. They arrive presenting themselves in a very unprofessional, and nonmilitary manner and are they are not well received. They barge into the hospital announcing they are the 'Pros from Dover.' called to save the Generals son and demand cooperation from the staff. I don't know why that line sticks out in my mind but it does.  
**


	36. Chapter 36 The Set Up

**Still don't own them.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 36**

**The Setup  
**

There stood Bobby and Ellen their backs to the door looking as if they were ready to start shooting. Sam's gut reaction was thank God the demon expert has arrived while Dean was afraid everything just got a whole lot more complicated. First and foremost the situation had to be defused. Calling out to them he rushed to Bobby, threw an arm around his shoulder and shook his hand then gave Ellen a kiss on the cheek, telling all there that these people are valued friends and Sam hurried to greet them as well.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled them into the room.

"You think you can keep me out of this one?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Besides Jim Murphy called to worn us, your dad's on his way. He bolted out the door the second he read a text." Ellen added, "He's in bad shape. We were afraid of you being alone when he shows up here. He'll probably arrive some time tonight. Jim checked into a Hotel 8 on the other side of town yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Dean started, "How?"

"He flew and we still found you first, gotta rub that in when we see him." Bobby snickered then gestured to the 'young' men and woman in the room, "What's this a junior hunters club meeting?" Bobby joked.

Before the voice in his head could shout at him Dean answered, "Bobby, Ellen I'd like you to meet Dixon Channing leader of these hunters."

There was a mild change in the atmosphere of the room. A heaviness had settled over it, a raise in tension so well hidden that only a spy, a grifter or a hunter would detect it. As everyone in the room was a hunter no one was unaware but all were pro's so everyone kept their cool.

With his face steeled in a pleasant expression Dixon extended his hand to Bobby, "How do you do?" he greeted the grizzled man with a hardy hand shake then took Ellen's hand and with a slight bow smiled, "Charmed."

"Glad to know you." Bobby took his hand then turned to Dean, "Damn how many are we talking about?"

"You're in five cities here and one or two in Canada, right?" Dean asked casually then without waiting for an answer turned to Bobby and Ellen, "They run it like a business. Comes complete with research teems." he told them then asked Dixon, "Who set this up, your dad? No your brother?"

"My elder brother established the organization when I was quite young." Dixon caught on and stepped in, "Ilsa is our primary fanatical manager. Take a bow Ilsa." he smiled at his Illutu's second in command, who stepped forward and did so.

"Funded hunting damn, how do you do that?" Bobby asked his eyes wide displaying great interest.

"It's a long drawn out process. You must carefully find people you trust, others like yourself, and slowly carefully bring them into the fold." Dixon began using Dean's 'Vague, carefully selected, truth' a technique he had witnessed so often, (particularly when picking up girls), "Do you have a small trustworthy group of well endowed friends"

"One or two or so I hear, but their dirt poor." Bobby threw out a rare off coloured joke which was well received.

"Dean and I have been four months on the road however I really couldn't say. We've shared a room but not a bath." Dixon continued the joke, "But there's a lady in every town if you wish to take a survey."

"Okay, let's stop it right there." Dean stepped in, "Bobby, Ellen about my friends here, I'm trusting you. These guys don't need every hunter in the country banging on their door trying to share of the wealth."

"Armed and not taking no for an answer." Ellen added with a chuckle.

"Hey you guys got expense accounts for phone bills?" Bobby suddenly asked a bright smile on his face.

Ellen glared while Dean and Sam smothered snickers. Ellen narrowed her eyes but could only hold the glare for another few seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Was it something I said?" Bobby asked wide eyed and innocent sending more ripples of laughter through the room.

"That's enough smart ass." Ellen gave him an elbow nudge, "Lets get a room before Jim gets here."

"You I get, you're always up for a demon hunt." said Dean to Bobby, "But you Ellen, just taking off and Pastor Jim?"

"You're dad's on the way, remember." Ellen said shaking her head, "You need your back, front and both sides covered."

"John was staying with Jim trying to get grounded when he got your text." Bobby said becoming serious and speaking directly to Sam and Dean he said, "Boys he's not on the edge he's over it. We need to talk."

"Ilsa, will you help Dean's friends obtain a room." Dixon offered, "We may have booked them all."

"Great, thanks Dix." Dean urged Ellen and Bobby out the door then paused, "Just a sec."

Dean had little doubt that the minute he left the room Dixon would have a miner revolt on his hand. One he would have trouble suppressing if he was even so inclined. He was confident that with time and effort he could win Bobby and Ellen over and possibly Pastor Jim. Working with Dixon and his people would be the first step, proof they were the good guys, but how to tell Dixon that before leaving the room. They worked together well but Dixon wasn't Sam. They still needed a word or two to communicate.

Dean hurried back to Dixon calling "Take over for me here, I'll be back in a bit." then took his hand and with a meaningfully look in his eyes added, "These are our kind of people, we wont them."

Dixon nodded his acceptance then with a meaningful look of his own, asked, "Is there anything you need from me?"

Leaning over the table making a show of looking at papers Dean muttered, "Your best truth liars to lay down the foundation." then addressed the others as he left the room, "Bobby here is one of the best demon hunters I know so don't you embarrass me."

* * *

Dixon waited until he heard the signal from the guard outside the door, telling him that they were out of ear shot before turning to the council and Balu gathered in the room. There were waiting also.

"Don't embarrass him?" one growled.

"It was a warning that, as they are expert hunters, we must be very careful." Dixon announced.

"You can explain, I'm sure." Jacob came to Dixon's aid despite his own trepidation.

"Dean and I have made a plan." Dixon began but growls and protests erupted around him.

"Hear our King." Jacob growled above it all.

Large as the room was it was over crowded with fifteen members of the council and eighteen Balu. He stepped back and stood on the coffee table so he could look over the crowd while presenting a dominant image.

"Dean and I have discussed this matter on a number of occasions. There are certain hunters we must never reveal ourselves to and leave alive. I have their names and descriptions. There are good hunters who may or may not react well, so it is better to stay hidden from them and there are a few Dean knows will accept us as he does but they must be approached carefully." All were watching, listening, giving him their undivided attention. That didn't mean they were won over but neither were they about to bolt out the door. They wanted to see strength and confidence in their King. "These two could be valued allies. In those few words we exchanged Dean and I formed a plan to make that possible if we choose.

"You must understand that interviewing people and detecting lies is a part of the human way of hunting. They can tell by how you hold your eyes whether you are remembering something or fabricating it. This was the warning, 'Do not embarrass me', they can detect lies. I need people, a small number of volunteers, who are in the habit of dealing with humans and have a measure of respect for them, a small number only, who are willing to interact with these hunters.

"They will ask you who you are, perhaps where you are from and most assuredly how you became a hunter. You can tell them where your family is from whether it be Europe Asia or Mesopotamia. Do not worry about lying about who came to America or other matters as they will expect hesitations about giving personal information. They will very likely lie about themselves. They will expect you to be guarded there fore there will be not need to hide discomfort or natural reserve. Only be polite. But when they ask how you became involved in hunting I want you to be able to describe a hunt. One in which you lost a dear friend or loved one to a monster or witnessed a monster's horrific act. This is how humans become hunters, through personal tragedy. Telling such a tale will gain their trust and lay down the foundation for friendship and in time truth."

"I recall loosing a woman I loved to a vampire, but it was in Greece" Jacob offered when no one responded to Dixon's call for volunteers.

"Then say it was in Greece and you loved the woman." Dixon jumped on the lifeline, "Please tell us what happened?"

As Jacob described an unfortunate unexpected encounter with a vampire Dixon asked questions encouraging such details as, it was a cool evening, early twilight, how the sky looked and how lovely she was with her hair down and blowing in the breeze.

"That is perfect. A heart breaking story of a lose, they would understand and accept you as one like them." Dixon approved then turned to the crowd, "I am looking for true stories. Simply tell the story omitting that it was a century, or a millennia ago." but no one spoke up so he began one of his own, "Some years ago, I was investigating caves in the north of Spain, with seven others all of us great climbers. One was my dearest friend Wilfred. He had such a love of caves he hoped to take up spelunking one day. I never mentioned he was already doing that very thing. He had a peculiar laugh that made everyone around him laugh and we were all laughing as we made our way out of the caves. I believe Lucian another good friend was telling one of his ridiculous jokes when we heard this strange growl and suddenly Wilfred was gone. He was no more than a few feet from me and suddenly he was there no more. We all froze, we were so startled, we had no idea what had just happened. We heard the roar again and suddenly Clarisse was gone. She was a small robust girl, I didn't know very well. I called 'out, out' and we all began scrambling for the opening. We could see it, it was that close, but more and more were taken as we tried to escaped the caves and make it down to my brother at the bottom of the hill side. Of the eight that went in only three came out. It took a great deal of effort on my brother's part to discover it was a Wendigo and find how to kill it. The thought of it always strikes fear into my heart. I was on my third Wendigo hunt when we met Dean." Dixon finished his tale, " I can never tell that story without feeling the pain of those loses. It will be evident when it repeat it to them. They will see truth and sincerity of my story and perhaps even feel a kinship."

It was not the first hunt he lead, not by a far cry, but it was the first time he lost anyone and had the dubious renowned of having the highest casualties on any hunt to date. He could see by the discomfort on those near him that the pain was evident in his usually well schooled face. He called again for more volunteers. Silence hung heavy in the room until Aelfric came forward with a tale. His ploy had worked. 'If their King was willing to so expose himself how could they not show courage.'

* * *

"A secrete hunter society?" Bobby asked as he dropped his bag on a bed in the room he would share with Jim Murphy.

"It's true, they run it like a detective agency or something." Dean said hands in the air in an I swear gesture, then hesitated before continuing "Well, they have this big foundation, a business that's not about hunting but it finances them. Don't ask me how it works. I know shit about business."

"And they're hunters? Rich businessmen, women, hunters?" Bobby was having a hard time with the concept.

"Hey, Sam and me ran every kind of check on these guys you can think of." Dean assured him, "More than once. They're legit or their business is."

"They don't have criminal records or if they did they made them go away." Sam took up the story, "Dixon the leader is based in Scranton Pennsylvania. He has a big manor there, is a very private guy but his business interests are pretty public. He operates under the umbrella company Nisutu Enterprises. He owns a big chunk of Micro Soft and a few other well known business. Has some major European holdings too. This is one very rich guy, he can afford to do this. If some of those other guys, in there, have money too well…." Sam finished with a shrug.

"Nisutu? Wonder what that means, Dean?" Bobby asked.

"Family or kindred." Dean didn't hesitate, "If you go back far enough Dixon's family comes from somewhere around Mesopotamia. And some or maybe most of them do have money but some of the teams are on salary." Dean added, "They have private detective licences just in case but generally they sneak in….."

They filled Bobby and Ellen in on how they met Dixon during the wendigo hunt and the chance meeting in Los Vegas. Dean told them what he knew about how the hunters operated, the teams, the operations in other cities and so forth focusing on their hunting practices while Sam added what information he was able to find out about their business operations.

Sam was not very knowledgeable about business but Brady had been a big help in that department. Sam learned a lot about the subject from his friend and had hoped to enlist Brady's help in managing Dean's growing funds. Dean, he thought could be Brady's first client. But even with Brady's natural business skills and his own ability to dig up information about people he found nothing incriminating about Nisutu Enterprises.

Of Dixon Channing himself Sam was able to learn he was the great grandson of a British gentleman, Leopold Channing, who immigrated to America after the civil war and bought a plantation in West Virginia. Dixon was born in San Francisco where his father had been sent to expand the family business, was educated in England, and he looked a great deal like his grandfather. Uncannily like him. The Scranton property was already a family holding when he moved in ten years ago and he lead a quiet life attending the occasional fundraising and a few other public functions. Other than that, little was known.

"Well Sammy hunters tend to be low profile, private people." Dean pointed out.

"Yah but there's something about a guy you can't get anything on." Sam hedged, he just couldn't, quite get over that little inner twitch Dixon gave him, "You know even the best hunters get their name on some police blotter somewhere. Dad has several wants out on him, and so do you."

"Not anymore." Dean grinned, "Remember that big chunk of change I took out a month ago? I gave it to Dixon to make them go away."

Dean put off the discussion about John knowing it would be long and involved. The fact that both Bobby and Ellen agreed was a good indicator of just how bad it would be. In spite of that he was able to keep the conversation going for over an hour before Bobby started asking what his plans were for dealing with Meg. He hoped it was time enough. 'Let's go see what the troops are up to', Bobby suggested.

"We don't want to leave Dixon alone to long in case he forgets who's in charge." Sam groaned.

"What is it with you and Dixon?" Dean pressed finding Sam's attitude an on going irritant, "The guy's had my back for four months. What is your problem?"

"I don't know." Sam squirmed, "It's just…. There's something creepy about the guy." Bobby, Ellen and Dean all looked at each other, Bobby folded his arms over his chest, Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets and Ellen's hands went to her hips, and they waited, "It's …. it's the way he looks at you. It's almost, I don't know, like possessive? It's just creepy."

"Possessive?" Ellen's eyebrows rose as she turned to Dean.

"I don't know?" Bobby's hands slipped to his pockets as he too turned to Dean, "Sam here's had you all to himself his whole life."

"That's true." Ellen nodded thoughtfully and Sam became agitated but Dean cut him off before he could comment.

"You got a point there." Dean said to Ellen and Bobby, growing very serous and Sam began to glare.

"Could be Sam's not too happy having you trusting someone else." Bobby sighed rocking on his feet in great thought, and Sam grew indignant crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

"Some one to confide in, depend on, who is not him." Ellen continued as Sam moved to seething.

"You know guys I never had a real friend before, Sammy's not used to that." Dean pointed out.

"Okay that's enough!" Sam lost it and barked, "I was serous! The way he looks at you, there's something not right there."

It was too much. It was like watching a little boy stomping his feet in a jealous fit. Bobby, Ellen and Dean burst into laughter.

"Why won't you guys listen to me?" Sam demanded in frustration.

"I've been with the guy practically twenty four seven for four months." Dean said still chuckling, "If there was something wrong with him I'd know by now."

Sam moaned and sighed in frustration more than a little put out. It was at times like this that he really felt like Dean's kid brother, which was odd because when Sam was a kid Dean never laughed or complained even once about having to check under the bed twice before getting in, or sharing a bed even when there were two in the room.

"Could you please at least once pay attention to the way he looks at you." Sam pleaded in earnest.

"What like he's admiring a good looking guy?" Dean gave in accepting it would come out sooner or later, "He is. Dixon's bi."

"Bi?" Bobby asked not sure he understood.

"As in bisexual?" Ellen knew she understood.

"Yeah." Dean answered and waited for something he could respond to.

"Has he ever …?" Sam didn't know how to ask.

"What, made a pass at me? Seriously?" Dean huffed wearing an 'are you kidding' face.

"Thank God." Sam sighed with relief.

"Why thank God? You got problems with gay people, Sam?" Dean growled upset, over more than the obvious.

"Well no, not a problem, unless he's hitting on you." Sam hurried to answer while a little stunned by the question.

"So it's okay to be homosexual as along as it's no where near you?" Dean pressed hiding his fear behind hostility, his usual tactic, "Not a full blown homophobe just a little around the edges."

"I'm not homophobic." Sam raised his voice, "I just knew something was off about him."

Dean paused a moment before answering unnervingly quietly, "There's nothing off about him. He's just gay." Dean finely used the G word, "So are a couple of others in that room so no it's not a secrete. Get over it Sam. Don't you dare show him any disrespect or I just might let him prove to you what a tough, son of a bitch, he is." slowly he turned to two very uncomfortable friends, "You think he's off?"

"You've been worrying about this for a while haven't you?" Bobby asked.

"Yah, a while." Dean admitted, "Bobby?"

"I don't think about it at all Dean." Bobby sighed uncomfortably, "It's just not something I know anything about. I guess that's why it weirds me a little."

"Or 'couse it threatens you?" Ellen softened as she spoke to Bobby, "'Couse it's not manly?"

"It's obvious, even to a red neck like me, a guy who faces down a wendigo, then these two boys snarling at him, isn't any limp wrested wussie boy like they show on TV." Bobby growled awkward but sincere.

"Like Jo's friend from the pharmacy." Ellen giggled.

"Now that guy's something else." Bobby huffed but grinned.

"Yah but he's the exception, not the rule. He's harmless." Ellen laughed, "You're a product of your time Bobby, but you're a good man.", then she put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder "Dean he's your partner and your friend and we'll show him the respect due a hunter who's earned your trust."

"Thank you." Dean smiled with relief.

"And I'm sure Sam here is just a little weirded by a guy eyeballing his brother, right." She had to add.

"It's kind of freaky." Sam said with a hopeful smile, not wanting one of Dean's rages here and now.

That's what Dean was afraid of. He had hoped that Sam's animosity toward their father had shielded him from John's attitudes but Sam's alarm had him worried. And angry. Dean couldn't help what he was, although he wasn't sure what that was. Yes he was comfortable with Dixon's arm around his shoulders and the teasing was just funny but did that really mean anything? It was because they were friends, something new and wondrous to him. He had a real friend he could talk to, laugh with and do friend things with like hang out at a bar. Dean stopped himself before he thought about the kissable lips. To late. He pushed it aside to not think about later.

"Get over it, it just means he has good taste." Dean grinned at Sam and gave him a gentle push toward the door, "Come on we got a bitch to bag."

They shook out the tension that had grown in the room and headed to the big suite at the end of the row. The three floor building was U shaped around a pool and deck with a minibar that served drinks in unbreakable classes. Not disposable but unbreakable. It was a local inn with a four star rating as much due to the restaurant and bar on the main floor as large suites at the end of each U on both floors. Fortunately there were enough comfortable rooms for the council members even if the decor wasn't up to their usual standards but Dixon insisted they were going to cause enough attention as it was. Only a small private motel would have bought the story of a small company having an emergency business meeting.

Dean was relieved to find it calm when they walked in, and eye contact with Dixon told him they were prepared. There was a little more handshaking as Jacob came forward and introduced himself. Dean lead them over to a table covered in photo graphs and several maps of the area around a bar Meg was frequenting and the area not far from it where she was staying.

"This is her." Dean handed Bobby and Ellen a picture.

"Sweet looking girl. She's staying? She took a room?" Bobby asked startled.

"You ever here of that before?" Ellen asked.

"Can't say that I have but demon activity is skyrocketing. It's damned weird." Bobby mused when a man handed him the beer he'd been offered when he first entered, "Thanks, Bobby Singer." he offered his hand.

"Garrick." the suited took it then gave a beer to Ellen and another to Sam.

"Ellen Harvelle, been hunting long?" She took the beer shook his hand and asked with a smile.

"I'm head of security." He replied with a polite nod.

"You don't hunt then" Ellen asked before he could leave.

"Though we have been known to become involved it is not the security team's primary function. If you will excuse me I have to make my rounds." he said with another nod and was off.

"Sure, you're excused." She said a little miffed.

"Please excuse Garrick. He lost one of his best to a demon only days ago." Dixon hurried to explain. "One he recruited himself. He's taking it personally."

"Oh, I am sorry." Ellen offered with sincerity.

After a few awkward moments Bobby asked if anybody had any idea's. With Dean, Dixon and Bobby leading the discussion there were many questions and a great deal of analysis of the area and Meg's movements, but few idea's were offered. Gradually Dean became quiet and leaned, elbows on the table, poking at the map and a few photos. Dixon held up a hand to his people calling for silence and Bobby and Ellen followed suit. Bobby and Ellen had no idea what was going on and were only following Dixon and Sam's example. Dean's brother and partner however were familiar with Dean's moods and ways. He was on to something. Gradually Dean began to focus on the buildings around the bar asking if any were empty. Dixon made a phone call and only minutes later was told there were several.

"Good, I'll need a look at them." Dean nodded, without looking up from the maps.

Sam asked with a grin, "What are you up to." and catching on Bobby, and Ellen began to smile.

Dixon looked around the room then turned to one of the Balu, "Tamarra contact relaters and do what ever is necessary to view these properties." He instructed and texted her a list.

"That will take to long. Can somebody hack into their systems and give us a look. They'll have pictures. It'll give us an idea of what we've got to work with." Dean cut in.

"I'll do it." Sam began looking around for his back pack.

"No I need you here, Dixon would you?" Dean stopped Sam.

Dixon nodded at Tamarra who nodded back and left.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"What are you cooking up." Bobby asked.

"Yes do tell." Dixon insisted, while keeping an eye on his people.

"I want to try something I did before." Dean began slowly, "Remember how we got Brady, Sam?"

"Brady?" Dixon asked.

"A friend of Sam's who was possessed."

"You invited him to a rave that didn't exist." Sam explained his mind spinning starting to put the pieces together.

"Say what?" Bobby asked.

Dean explained how he found and set up the warehouse then invited Brady out to party. The Barbaru began looking in folders and pulling out papers while crowding a little closer around the table.

"You want to invite her to a … party?" Dixon asked, "How do you insure she will come."

"Well that's the trick. Brady was a party animal, he'd jump at the chance for a rave. He was also suspicious and wanted to find out what I was up to." Dean explained, "The question is what does she want?"

"Besides killing you?" Sam pointing out a flaw, "I'd say a little risky."

"Which is why we bait her with someone she wants alive." Dean sighed with regret, "I'm not the bait, you are."

"You're sure she want's Sam alive?" Ellen asked worried but, she maintained her professional persona.

"It's a long story involving thirty years of research and a visit with an oracle. I'll tell you about it over diner but up front, yah, I'm sure." Dean answered with a sigh.

To many people were getting involved. To many chances of dangerous information leaking to the wrong people. How he so wished this had stayed small and simple.

"Damn it boy oracles are dangerous you idjit." Bobby growled, "What were you thinking?"

"Do they lie?" Dean demanded.

"No, but they don't always tell you the whole story and most of the time they tell you things you're better off not knowing." Bobby growled even harsher.

"Yah I know Bobby, I heard a hunter tried to dynamite the temple but don't worry it wasn't me." Dean growled.

"No, it was your dad!" Bobby snarled then winced, "You weren't supposed to know about that. What do you know?"

After a painful and protracted silence during which Dean kept hearing his fathers voice in his ear whispering 'If you can't save Sam you'll have to kill him.' he forced a grin and said, "He didn't tell you what she said but he gave you shit for sending him there even though he demanded you tell him abut her and you warned him not to go. How am I doing so far?" he asked and Bobby nodded uncomfortably, "Then when you two were about half way through a bottle, he went on a rant about how he was going to single-handedly fight heaven and hell to change the proficiency then swore you to secrecy without ever telling you what the secrete was. Pretty much it?"

"Pretty much." A very embarrassed and dejected Bobby admitted then asked, "He told you all that?"

"Hell no." Dean said with a cold smirk, "Some drunken mutterings here and there about prophecies and well it wasn't hard do figure out the rest."

"You sure know that sorry son of a bitch, don't you?" Bobby huffed a laugh.

"Bobby, you have know idea." Dean released a deep breath then calmed himself, "Okay so that's been aired, can we get back to the plan? I know she wants Sam alive so he baits her into our trap. Maybe suggest a club or diner where they can talk quietly."

"Why would she come to talk with me?" Sam asked.

"I could think of a few reasons." Ellen offered with a little grin.

Three hours of working out details including where to set up a club and how to get it done, and the primary masterminds were becoming some what confident in the plan. The next step was making it happen and in this there could be no delays. Meg could disappear from the city at any minute and the opportunity would be lost. As the group began to split up to tend to different aspects of the plan Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"It'll probably work as long as she doesn't see it coming." Bobby agreed.

"Oh I think I know how to arrange that.

* * *

**Please read and review. Next chapter up shortly. Fans of Paul Newman and or Robert Redford take note of the chapter titles.  
**


	37. Chapter 37 The Tale

**I don't own Sam, Dean or Supernatural which will be back in one month and counting.**

* * *

**Chapter 37**

**The Tale**

As soon as he could get away Dean drove to a near by park, sat on a bench and closed his eyes. He took a moment to relax before calling his friend. True having Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim on the hunt was comforting. Yes, he had faith in Dixon but the fact was he'd never hunted with any of the others and none of them had hunted a demon before. Within the first few hours of arriving in Phoenix more Barbaru proved they couldn't cope with a human giving orders. Thirteen were sent back to their Illutu's with ominous warnings of pending reassignments forth coming. Dean couldn't be sure those who remanded were loyal or were tempered by the thought of loosing their positions. Hunter teams on the other hand were more reliable. They obeyed orders as a matter of course and did their jobs not only out of loyalty but for pride sake. That fact would be a great comfort when Sam walked into the lions den.

Having human help was a comfort, but an axe over his head as well. For all his faith and trust in them there was no guarantee they were ready to accept supernatural beings as hunters. The strain of having to keep this volatile situation from blowing up in his face and hurting a lot of innocent people had given him a migraine sized headache. If it hit the fan there was only one way to be sure the Barbaru would be safe from being hunted and his friends would be safe from the Barbaru. He would have to ask Castiel to rearrange the memories of his nearest and dearest friends. Could the situation get any slimier? He sighed deeply, closed his eyes but before he began to prey he felt Castiel beside him.

"You are troubled." the Angel stated.

"This is getting messy." Dean groaned, "I hate when things get complicated like this. To much can go wrong. "

"Is there anything that can be done to correct the problem?" Castiel asked.

"Not at the moment. Cass I may need you to make Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim forget about meeting Dixon's people." Dean admitted, "I brought the Barbaru into this. I have to protect them and I have to make sure they don't panic, kill my friends and start a war.

"Dixon made the opening overture and I persuaded you to accept it. The responsibility for this is not yours." Castiel stated as fact.

"Ultimately it was my decision Cass and it wasn't completely unselfish either." Dean admitted, "Can you do it, the memory thing I mean?"

"Having hunters hunting the Barbaru would be most unfortunate." Castiel conceded, "I can alter their memories and present the act to Zachariah as an effort to maintain the status quo."

"You're starting to get the hang of this, dude." Dean smiled happy to have that solution at his disposal, "Now I have another favour to ask. How hard would it be to put it in Sam's mind that he's here fighting with me cause I'm trying to drag him away from school? That he's totally pissed and doesn't want to be anywhere near me?"

"It would not be difficult but rather unpleasant for both of you." Castiel answered, "Is it not an intricate part of your plan to gain your brother's trust and confidence."

"This is just a temporary thing. Only long enough for him to lure Meg into a trap." Dean explained what would have been obvious to anyone else, "Then you put him back the way you found him. Okay?" and when Castiel agreed Dean addressed the other problem, "The tricky part will be explaining you."

"Is that necessary?"

"Well we can't introduce you as an Angel. If they did buy it, it would create a world of questions we can't answer. Besides you're supposed to keep a low profile aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." Castiel agreed after some thought, "I believe there is a nest of vampires in the next state. I could bring them with me and kill them and in doing so convince them I am a hunter?"

"No, no Cass not a good idea." Dean hurried to stop him, he could see the whole scene playing out in his mind in a horrifying blur, "I told Bobby and Sam you and Luis de Montfort taught me to read the books you put me on to so that makes you an expert linguist. I also told Sam you're a theologian and occultist which brings me to this."

Dean held up the talisman for Castiel's examination. The Angel took it in hand gave it a quick examination and did a head tilt before giving it back to Dean. Dean waited. Castiel merely looked at him in silence seeming to be waiting himself.

"Well?" Dean finely asked.

"Do you wish something?" Castiel asked.

"Do you know what it is, what it does?" Dean groaned.

"It is known as the Heart Of St. Francis." Castiel answered unperturbed by Dean's frustration, "It brings peace to the tormented and judgment to the guilty."

"I was afraid of that." Dean signed disappointed, "Sam was hoping it would put a damper on my anger. It's hard on him having to tip toe around me and I'm not finding it a lot of fun either."

"It could be effective. For almost a thousand years it has brought peace to those who witnessed many forms of brutality and savagery and particularly the horrors of war." Castiel agreed with Sam, "The influence of one as virtuous and serene as Francis of Assisi could bring peace to you."

Castiel had done as much as he dared to quiet Dean's nightmares. He pushed the torment of his stay in hell into the back of Dean's mind allowing him to sleep through the night with a minimum of disturbance but it did not reconcile the young man to the experience. By day as by night the memories where there haunting him. The only way Castiel could completely undo all the damage to Dean's tormented soul would be to expunge those memories that instilled the fears and self-hate. He suspected that to accomplish that he would have to turn Dean into an amnesiac.

"Cass do you know what happened to the Nazi who went into a coma?" Dean asked.

"He received judgement. He was condemned to endure the suffering he had inflicted on thousands of Jews."

"Now see I wouldn't like that."

"You would not be so judged as you have not damned thousands of Jews to a slow death in concentration camps." Castiel stated what he thought an obvious fact.

"No but I spent ten years as a psycho torturer of souls which is a little more hands on than your Nazi." Dean said more matter of factly than he felt, "Thirty years on the receiving end of that was enough, thank you."

"The primary function of the talisman is to ease the suffering of those driven beyond the point of human endurance." Castile explained surprised that Dean did not understand, "That would certainly describe your experience."

"It's what comes after that worries me." Dean sighed them put the object away, "Cass, we're setting up for tomorrow night. Can you be waiting for my call then?"

"I will." Castiel agreed.

"In the mean time my dad's on his way. You can grab his papers when he gets here . Maybe things are finely coming together." Dean finished with a smile.

* * *

After watching the Impala pull away Castiel returned to the bench he shared with Dean and waited for Gabriel to materialise. His visits in the ether were frequent and at times disruptive but not unwelcome. Knowing what his wayward big brother was up to was a comfort even if his antics were somewhat disturbing. It was also reassuring to know that he was not alone in his guardianship of Dean in spite of the fact that Gabriel would not admit, even to himself, that he would give aid to the human. For all Micheal's piety and Rafael's zeal it was Gabriel who seemed to appreciate the beauty and wonder that was humanity and in Castiel's eyes this made Gabriel a little closer to their father. Castiel always liked Gabriel and was crushed when he ran away, but now he felt he understood. By watching Dean and Sam, Cass could see how families who love one another can still grow apart even if he didn't understand why.

"Coming together? Is he serious?" the Archangel guffawed.

"His improbable machinations do tend to achieve his ends." Castiel defended Dean.

"Improbable is the word for it." Gabriel growled, "My life is in the hands of a second rate Machiavelli. The only thing more screwed up than this is heaven. Tell me Michael's worried. That would be reassuring."

"I have not communicated with Michael in many centuries." Castiel answered then turned a very intense stare on his big brother, "There is nothing to fear."

"My life is in the hands of that hairless ape." Gabriel snarled, "He remembers me dieing trying to help them. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?"

"Yes, I died twice aiding in their cause." Castiel answered.

"And you're not worried? You got brass balls little brother." Gabriel marvelled then did a double take, "Twice?"

"Yes, father resurrected me. Both times." Cass's said his chin elevating a little, "That is very reassuring."

Castiel and Gabriel stared at each other then turned their attention to the people enjoying the park. It was a pleasant pastime Castiel indulged in during quieter times when he felt confident in leaving Dean unattended. He found it heartening to watch these wondrous creatures enjoying the beauty his father had created for them. It gave him faith not only in the righteousness of their cause but it's validity. The world deserved to be saved.

"He resurrected you ….. twice." Gabriel muttered.

"Dean is the Lectus unus, Gabriel." Castiel stated in a soft voice, "It is Father's will and I was rewarded for aiding him."

"I tried to help?" The Archangel said in a child like voice, "Why wasn't I rewarded?"

"Perhaps you were but Dean was unaware."

"Yah, if helping him got me killed why would I go anywhere near him after that?" Gabriel reasoned a smile trying to break free on his face.

"Because he is father's chosen instrument and he wants us to help Dean out of faith and selfless devotion." Castiel answered the rhetorical question.

"You're not my favourite brother." Gabriel snarled then disappeared.

* * *

By the time Dean returned to the Hotel Bobby, Ellen, Sam, and Dixon had come back from examining the store fronts. Dean didn't need to see them himself. They were well aware of what was needed, especially Ellen, so he accepted their recommendation with little ado. No sooner was the decision made when Jacob hurried to Garrick and gave him the address. He not only wanted the exorcism recorded but all the work that went into making it possible.

There was no need to explain the necessity of being invisible to the Barbaru, of leaving no trace. It was their way of life as well as their method of hunting. In and out of a town without anyone knowing they were there. In point of fact they found Dean's methods frighteningly high profile. But when Dean asked for volunteers to help Bobby, Ellen and pastor Jim steal supplies Jacob was startled.

"We will not be purchasing the necessary items?" he asked, "We can do so through holding companies that we hide behind."

"Is he serious?" Bobby asked.

"That's not a good idea." Ellen said with an awkward cough.

"Evidence of our presents?" Dixon asked.

Dean nodded then turned to the still rather large gathering, "Anything can go wrong. That's a theme for us independents. We could end up with everything we get destroyed, the building itself in pieces even the bodies of innocent by standards in the wrong place at the wrong time if we're really unlucky. We register under false names, and what we need we buy with cash, fake credit cards or we steal. If we had the time we could set up a fake company name to buy this stuff under but the credit card would have to be fake so it can't be traced to anyone here."

"We could?" Ellen asked.

"You'd be amazed what their resource people can do." Dean answered with a grin and a wink.

"They are quite resourceful if you pardon the pun." Dixon added with a smile and slight bow.

"Seems to me stealing's easier." Bobby grumbled.

"Most of the time if you ask me and today it's the way we **need **to work." Dean agreed and turned to Dixon to begin handing out assignments, "We'll need a couple of volunteers to help steal the larger equipment. Bobby can you take that on? Sam do you want to handle the paint and supplies and take some handy man type volunteers to begin the fix up a few artists to dress it up the devil's trap and assorted sigils and runes. You'll have to keep in touch with Ellen so you'll know what she needs. Here's the keys, raid the trunk for the tools oh hell we need to steal a truck or van."

"Take my truck, I'm going to have to get something bigger, five ton should do it." Bobby said tossing Sam the keys .

"Thanks." Sam accepted appreciatively.

"Good Sam use the most obscure card we have and trash it right away. Ellen would you check Bobby's list and get whatever he doesn't have? You'll have a better idea of what that is. Wheel's Ellen what will you need."

"A very none descript van. Can I grab a set of plates from you?" She asked.

"No problem we have a good selection in the trunk. Dixon do we have what she needs?" Dean turned to his partner, "A none descript van?"

"It'll be done. Simon right away please." He turned to one of the Balu though he had only a vague notion of what it was for.

"I don't have to tell you to check out your targets. Let me know if you need some hacking done to support whatever invoices you'll need me to make. Sam will be busy so we'll get Dixon's people on it. We all squared away here? Questions?"

As Dean addressed them Sam, Bobby and Ellen responded with a quick nod of agreement while Dixon rounded up the required volunteers. Bobby asked for a couple of burly types that could pass for truckers and haulers while Sam needed basic muscle that isn't afraid of sweat and dirt, and Ellen needed a couple of people who can fake a conversation about the service industry and lift heavy boxes.

"Hey what are we going to use for food?" Ellen asked.

"We'll get a bunch of take out from a diner?" Dean laughed

Sam Bobby Ellen and Dixon joined in and quite a few of the Barbaru appreciated the humour as well. As the room quieted there was a momentary awkward pause as no one seemed to want to be the first to move. Well that's enough of that Bobby thought.

"Truckers with me." Bobby growled and headed for the door and two men and a woman followed him. Bobby opened the door just as Pastor Jim was about to knock, "You're just in time. Pull off the collar you're now a trucker what are you driving?"

"I rented a van just in case." Jim stammered confused by all the commotion around him.

"Tagged?" Bobby asked if the rental companies name was on it.

"What do you take me for?" Jim asked indignantly.

"Fine, stupid question." Bobby admitted, then turned to his volunteers and asked, "Who's the truck driver?" and a six foot tall red head raised a hand, "Okay, you'll take one of these big guys and the other come's with me and Jim."

"If Emiline gets out of line he won't hesitate to take a strip out of her." Dean whispered his concerns to Dixon.

"If she puts a foot out of place she looses her position on the flag team and she knows it." Dixon whispered back, "If he tells her to bark like a dog, she will."

"I wouldn't mind seeing that." Dean grinned.

* * *

It was well into dawn when Dean, Sam and Dixon finely decided that good enough was in fact good enough. It only needed to pass a cursory glance not close scrutiny and really not even that. If curiosity would not do the trick Dean knew what would. Ego, their greatest and most useful flaw. Ego and hate. Dean had come to understand the nature of their hate just a little. He always understood, or thought he understood his father's hate of demon's and the supernatural. He knew now that it wasn't as simple, as something killed my wife. But hell taught Dean how one can take their pain and rage out on innocent bystanders. It was how the bullied became bullies. Oh he knew it was a trap, a way to excuse one actions and the actions of others. A trap he could never allow himself to fall into. Not again. But there was no denying the satisfaction of doing onto others as he'd been done onto.

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts as he took one last look around their store front miracle. Everyone had worked through the night and well into morning. The result was really quite remarkable and Ellen's little touches brought it all together. Checked table cloths covered miss matched tables and rust paint made chairs match, well close enough and Dollarrarama provided the finishing touches all achieved with cash and nothing that couldn't be disposed of by a fire in a large trash bin in the back.

"Well I'll be damned, we pulled it off." Bobby give it his stamp of approval.

The teams tailing Meg reported she made contact with someone in the warehouse district and another team was put on them. Dean was disappointed by the description, male, five ten, one hundred and seventy pounds mid to late thirties, but then there weren't any electrical storms so he wasn't really hoping. But then if Meg was making contact it was worth trying to find out who it was. In the mean time they would grab a few hours sleep before Dean brought in Castiel to do the memory work on Sam.

Dean took off his boots and stretched out beside his sleeping brother. Each of the suites two bedrooms had a king size bed, it was share or sleep on the floor so he tucked his bowie knife under the pillow and slept fully clothed. The curtain didn't keep out a great deal of light but that hadn't been a problem since he could remember.

After what felt like only minutes Dean started awake to find Castiel standing over him holding a thick folder full of papers. He got up as quietly as he could knowing that not waking up Sam was next to impossible, or should have been. He jerked his head toward Sam then tried tiptoeing to the bathroom but the Angel did not move. Dean stared at Sam who did not move.

"Am I awake." Dean asked.

"No." Castiel answered, "Do you wish me to bring these to you now or when I am presented as a linguist and theologian?"

"Dad's yellow eyed demon file?" Dean asked momentarily elated.

"Yes."

His smile evaporated, "He's here."

"Yes."

"Where?"

"He was sitting in an ally watching this hotel when I took the files."

"Okay, let me wake up, check and see if he's still there and meet me in the lobby." Dean said making half a plan while trying not to panic.

* * *

Dean was no sooner on his feet when Sam asked where he was going. Just to stretch my legs, he said and told him to go back to sleep.

"Tense?" Sam asked.

"A little." Dean admitted, "I need to get away from all this for a few minutes. I'll be back in a little bit." he finished deliberately vague.

He lay down in the late morning but when he looked out the window the sun was beginning to set. He'd had several hours sleep but he wasn't feeling very refreshed. He wouldn't until this was over. Dean made no further excuses to anyone and hurried to the lobby. The physic buzz warned him that Garrick's security people were there keeping watch, on him, on them all. Only moments later Castiel burst into the room, he'd quickly learned not to appear out of thin air in public. He swiftly made his way to Dean. Garrick's men rose to intercept the Angel until Dean moved to great him then they quickly but imperceptibly changed direction. Dean had to admit they were good. Without ceremony Cass handed over the file.

"This is going to make all the difference." Dean grinned but again the smile didn't stay, "Is he still there."

"No, do you wish me to find him." Castiel asked.

"No. Follow me but don't say anything." Dean answered after a moments thought and walked over to one of the men who had moved to intercept Castiel, "Which one of Garrick's men are you?"

The Barbaru security man smiled and took Dean's hand like they were saying hello, "I wasn't sure that was you." he said aloud then whispered, "Tucker, Sir."

"You haven't met my buddy Cass have you?" he muttered to Cass to shake Tucker's hand, "Why don't you come with us and I'll get you a beer." Dean said smiling as he lead the security man toward the door then added quietly, "We may have a problem, there was a guy watching from across the street."

As they started up the outside stairs they dropped the pretence, "Early to mid fourties, dark brown hair, brown eyes, lots of scruff, dirty army jacket and baseball cap?"

"That's him doing his homeless routine." Dean sighed feeling a little sick.

Garrick was waiting for them on the top floor and Dixon was pulling on a sweater when they entered the suite.

"Jacob will be here shortly, what has happened?" Dixon asked.

How could he get out of bed, get dressed and look well kept in under five minutes? Well his hair wasn't tied back but that was the only thing out of place and it wasn't really. It looked good tumbling about his shoulders. Dean shook these thoughts from his mind. It was bad enough when such notions flitted through his head at the best of times, during a crisis it was damned disturbing.

"Garrick could someone bang on Bobby and Ellen's door and tell them the shit has hit the fan." Dean asked then turned to Dixon, "Dix, this is Castiel. I think we're going to have to pick up the pace. Can you find out were Meg is right now?"

Dixon only looked at Garrick who began asking questions into his microphone earpiece

"Dean, what's up?' Sam stumbled out of the bedroom.

"Guess who's in town?" Dean answered

"Oh shit!" Sam exclaimed.

"Who's in town?" Dixon asked growing concerned.

"Our father. He's been spotted staking us out. Not a good sign."

In very short order the room was abuzz with whispered chatter and speculation. The Barbaru had grown justifiably alarmed over the presence of the Winchester's father after learning that he was cursed and crased. Dean had never worked with so many, nor had any of the human hunters. The scattered conversations, the constant distractions and lack of focus made any kind of quick planning a near impossibility. Not knowing where John was only added to the problems. Suddenly Dean regretted not letting Castiel look for him. Though Cas could leave the room and return virtually unnoticed explaining how he suddenly knew where his father was would be, to say the least, awkward.

Dean leaned against a window sill looking out over the now dark city. Hours had passed and nothing was done, nothing even planned. Dixon, Jacob and the Balu all had ideas about how to proceed, about what to do next and some of the suggestions about what to do regarding the crazed hunter were far from acceptable. 'You don't put a man down like a dog' Pastor Jim growled at one suggestion. Bobby couldn't resist adding that a good ass kicking wouldn't hurt but Ellen insisted that waiting until he could appreciate it would be more satisfying. Everyone had an idea, everyone had a plan and everyone was very vocal about it. Hell would freeze over before Dean ever ran a hunt like this again. He pushed away from the window, turned to the crowd and put his encumbering anger to good use.

"Alright, enough." Dean made his voice carry over the din, "We're wasting precious time. Dixon is Meg headed for the bar yet?"

Dixon looked to Garrick who nodded and answered with a quick simple, "Yes."

"Please get your teams in place." Dean began giving instructions without asking anyone's permission to take charge, but had sense enough to put them all through Dixon, "We'll need to post extra guards around the bar and trap to make sure my dad doesn't approach Sam."

The Barbaru were ready to fall into line, that had been the agreement for their participation in the hunt. Bobby, Pastor Jim and Ellen however were a little startled by Dean's sudden man in charge approach.

"Do they have taser's." Dean suddenly had a thought and Dixon nodded, "Good, if he shows his face before she gets there knock him out and bring him to the back room of the trap. If he shows after she does sit on him until notified. Bobby, Pastor Jim get your team over there and set up. Ellen we'll need the food and coffee. Dixon, bodies in seats is that all decided?" Dixon added a yes to his nod, "Good." he paused and waited. No one moved, "We're on the clock people."

Dixon looked around the room, making eye contact with the Balu then gave them a head nod and they all came to life. Suddenly Garrick was giving orders into his ear piece Belu were muttering instructions to their aids and bodies were filing orderly out the door.

"Spooky." Bobby muttered as he watch the well mannered exit.

"Have you guys met Castiel yet?" Dean asked though he knew the Angel never left his side.

"The linguist that taught Dean to read Akkadian and Koine Greek?" Bobby gave Cass a hardy handshake, "How many languages do you speak?"

"All of them." Castiel answered startling Bobby.

"You guys will have to talk another time." Dean intervened quickly as Bobby mouthed 'All of them' to Ellen and Pastor Jim, "Everyone okay with this?"

"I have to admit this whole thing seems a little awkward." Pastor Jim admitted.

"The more complicated it is…." Bobby sighed.

"The more that can go wrong, I know." Dean nodded in agreement as did Ellen, "Anybody got a better plan, I'm all ears?"

"Dean I know I said I'd go along with this but right now the idea of someone tinkering with my brain is starting to freak me out."

"Do no be afraid Sam Winchester, I will restore it. If you wish I will leave no memory of the event." Castiel sought to reassure Sam creeping him even further.

"No I'd like to know what happened." Sam replied hesitantly.

"We'll do this in the car to sell the we had a fight thing." Dean pushed to move things along.

"Dean everyone's waiting downstairs." Dixon helped.

"Alright then, lets go bag this bitch."

* * *

**This turned out to be a struggle to finish. Though I know exactly what happens next exhaustion is a problem so I will make no promises about when the next chapter will be posted. I only promise that I will indeed finish.**


End file.
